


Whims and Inconsistencies

by CollingwoodGirl, Fire_Sign, gaslightgallows (hearts_blood), Heavyheadedgal, jasbo, Meldanya, MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy, PlayfulMay



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bi-Curiosity, Bi-Gender Character(s), Canon Queer Character, Established Phrack, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-06-10 05:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6941638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollingwoodGirl/pseuds/CollingwoodGirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavyheadedgal/pseuds/Heavyheadedgal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasbo/pseuds/jasbo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldanya/pseuds/Meldanya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/pseuds/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayfulMay/pseuds/PlayfulMay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The (nice and very naughty) follow-up to Follies and Nonsense, for Sarahtoo's (omgimsarahtoo) birthday!</p><p>Jane Ross' 18th birthday is being celebrated by a lavish Regency-style Ball. Follow our couples as they find love and lust (and more lust).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Many Forms of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sarahtoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Follies and Nonsense](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390220) by [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign), [Heavyheadedgal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavyheadedgal/pseuds/Heavyheadedgal), [MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/pseuds/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy), [Sarahtoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dashing couples connect in unexpected ways at Jane's party. Story continues in a later chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy and gaslightgallows.
> 
> "There are as many forms of love as there are moments in time." Jane Austen
> 
> For the answer "Who are these original character?!", please see the end notes. ♥
> 
> Happiest of Birthdays Sarah!

Black gauzy material cascaded over her curves until below her knees, where the fabric was embroidered with a mix of gold and silver threads in the shapes of leaves and flowers. But it was the dress underneath that was going to drive Bert to distraction all night. It was the palest gold satin he’d ever seen and it clung to her every move down the stairs. The effect was not unlike lingerie and it had in fact taken him a second to realize she wasn’t actually nude under the gauze material.

The dress was bold, beautiful and a bit naughty, just like the woman herself.

His eyes were riveted to her every move as she came down the stairs.

“Bloody hell, Angie, I’m going to end up fighting men off you all night in that number. Not to mention Lili!”

“Mmm, I hope so. You don’t spend this kind of money on a dress to not get noticed my darling. And do you really think Lili will notice?”

The petite beauty had certainly caught her eye at Phryne and Jack’s parties. And more than once the two had flirted easily while their respective partners had secreted away after dinner to the gaming parlour for what turned out was a steamy bit of mischief with one Detective Inspector.

“I still can’t believe you started something with Sam without me. Most ungentlemanly, Mr. Johnson. Glad it wasn’t Lili as well or I wouldn’t have married you at all, you cad. ”

Angela pouting was one of Bert’s guilty pleasures.

“Now love, that was all Robinson’s doing and you know it! They lured me into that parlour under false pretenses.”

“Hmph, yes, poor Bert, so easily lead astray by the persuasive Detective Inspector and his author lover. I can see how the two would overpower you.”

_Two could play that game._

“Yes, rather similar to you ending up naked and panting in Miss Fisher’s parlour that one night, Mrs. Johnson. If you recall, that particular party started without _me_.”

She extended a gloved hand to him, “That’s Lady Lombard to you, Mr. Johnson. And it taught you never to be late from the pub again, didn’t it? Furthermore, I recall that evening led to a very delicious late night for everyone in the end. Now, dangerous liaisons aside, I must say, tonight you do make a very dashing consort.”

She made a fuss of adjusting his cravat, a thinly-veiled excuse to bring her hands to his chest. He really did clean up nicely. He was rather a ruggedly handsome specimen in his black satin pantaloons with black stockings, silvery grey waistcoat, and a royal blue tailcoat. The latter items did the most distracting things to his blue eyes. She was very glad she had suggested the blue tailcoat. Of course it had also prevented him from pouting about having to dress like a “bloody penguin.”

“So, you decided on Lady Lombard for the night, did you? What’s wrong with Mrs. Johnson?”

“Nothing at all, and it suits your mother incredibly well.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Tonight belongs to Jane. We agreed we’d tell everyone about the elopement over breakfast tomorrow. Besides, I think Lady Lombard has a wonderful ring to it, don’t you?” She leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I can’t wait to hear you call it out when I make you come later.”

Bert swallowed hard. After all these years she still raised his temperature with just a few words. How the hell was this intoxicating creature his wife? He pulled her into him so that she could feel his hardness press against her. It was his turn to whisper in her ear. “Why wait ‘til later? Who wants to be first at some stuffy ball?”

She moaned a little as she felt his hot breath on her ear and the sensitive skin behind it. She couldn’t believe that with all of the layers of cloth between them, that she could still feel him as he pressed into her. Unless he’d cheated and skipped a layer or two….

She nibbled on his ear as distraction, while she made quick work of the buttons on his breeches. She then sought his mouth for a bone-melting kiss while she slid her hand inside the now undone fall of his breeches. Her fingertips brushed... knitted fabric. She was almost disappointed; she’d kind of hoped he’d gone for a bolder choice, like she had.

“Find what you were looking for, love?” His chuckle against her lips was throatier than usual, amusement laced with lust. Her favorite.

She pulled her face away just so she could see his eyes. “To be honest, yes and no. Yes...” She stroked meaningfully on his erection. “And no,” as she changed the stroke to gently caress across the knitted fabric. Then discovered the edge of the leg and a smile returned to her lips. “You’re wearing your new Jockeys. I thought you hated the idea of these ‘newfangled briefs,’ my love?”

“I might have changed my mind. A man’s allowed to do that.”

“Hah, so was it Jack or Sam who talked you into them?”

“Actually it was Miss Fisher.”

“It’s just us here, are you really going to refer to her as “Miss Fisher” to me, Bert? You haven’t worked for her for over two years. And we’ve slept with her more than once. I know I’m the classless American, but honestly, even in the Antipodes I believe you are able to refer to a lover by their first name.”

“It’s habit, Angie.” He received an arched eyebrow. “I mean, Lady Lombard.” She smiled warmly and rewarded him with kisses rapidly progressing from warm to steamy while still trying to finish the thought.

“It still feels odd to call her Phryne outside of the bedroom.”

“When did we actually make it to a bedroom?”

“You know what I mean.” He bit her lip. “And besides, I am quite convinced we have become distracted from our plan.”

“Really, Mr. Johnson, which plan was that?” She slid her hand further into his breeches to the sweet spot of his balls, and was rewarded with a shudder.

“That’s the one,” he said, his breath quickening.

“Mmm, that was a particularly good plan. But we said we’d get there early for moral support and stopping by here to pick up my dress has set us off schedule. We can’t disappoint Jane.”

Bert’s head fell back in defeat, his groin aching. But he knew she was right. This wasn't’ just any old party.

“Don’t look so despondent, dear husband. Remember, we have to drive to get there….”

The wicked gleam had returned to her eyes and a small smile flitted across her scarlet lips.

“I just had the upholstery cleaned!”

“So I’ll swallow.”

***

“You know I don’t mind you watching me get ready, honey,” said Lili Elsworth, as she rose from the bathtub, “but if you could look a little happier while doing it, that’d be swell.”

Her husband Sam, who had finished his own bath while she’d been up at the house helping with last-minute party preparations, rolled his eyes and pasted on a fake smile for her. Lili rolled her eyes in return. “Not what I had in mind. Give me the towel.”

Sam looked down at the towel wrapped around his midsection, which was the only thing he was currently wearing. “There’s plenty of others—hey!” Lili twitched the towel from around his middle and began drying herself off, beaming cheekily at her husband. “Fine.” Sam went through to the bedroom and flopped naked on the expensively-made bed.

“Why _are_ you in such a rotten mood?” Lili asked, toweling off her torso and her limbs and her light brown hair. “Is it because we had to cancel our date with Renee Fleuri to come here?”

“No. ...Well, yes, that’s part of it,” Sam admitted, with a wry little grin. “I like Renee.”

“I like Renee, too,” Lili said, ruffling his damp hair. “She’s great fun. But there will be other dates. Kids only get one eighteenth birthday, and Jane’s a good kid. _And_ she’s a huge fan of your books. She’ll get such a kick out of you being here.” She moved her hand lower, to stroke his cheek. “You should shave.”

“No thanks. I’m going for the roguish and dashing look.”

“You don’t look dashing, you look disreputable.” She dropped the towel on Sam’s head and moved to open up the suitcases.

“Good,” he said sourly. “Since that’s what the old lady thinks I am. Otherwise we’d’ve had rooms up at the house instead of being stuck all the way out here.”

Lili paused with a pair of long stockings in her hand and looked over at her husband’s forlorn face. “Because it cuts down on the chance of you sneaking into someone’s bed, or just on principle?”

“...I’ve got no family to speak of, a reputation more scandalous than her niece’s, and I write detective novels for a living. I’m surprised Mrs. Stanley agreed to have me in her house at all, because clearly I just ain’t _quality_ enough for her.”

Setting the stockings back down, Lili knelt on the end of the bed and then stretched out next to him. “Or maybe Phryne wanted us to have a little extra peace and quiet, in case you need to slip away from a hot noisy party to catch your breath. Prudence Stanley’s not an _ogre_ , Sam, even if she is a little hidebound. I like her. She reminds me of my mother.”

“Oh, you mean the mother who refused to acknowledge you for the first five years of our marriage and still won’t actually speak to me?”

“ _And_ ,” Lili continued, wisely ignoring that old can of worms, “a little extra privacy at a do like this might be useful. We should take advantage of it.”

Sam rolled onto his side and eyed his wife with a sly expression. “How so?”

“Well, it’s a big bed... Phryne and Jack will be too busy and tired later on, but why not invite Bert Johnson for an after-party? He’s a favourite of yours.”

Sam’s sly grin widened. “He is, at that. But were you thinking of inviting _just_ Bert?” Lili rolled her shoulders in a shrug that did nothing to disguise the flush mantling up to the roots of her fair hair and down her back.

“Well... he and Angela Lombard are inseparable these days...”

“Mmm, yes, Angela the bombshell.” Sam skimmed the tip of his tongue over his lips. “I would not say no to that... And I’ve noticed that she’s definitely captured your attention in a way most women don’t. But I didn’t think you liked ladies with dye jobs.”

“It doesn’t look bad on her, if it is a dye job, which I doubt. And I do like ‘em brassy...”

“Hmm, and busty. Which Lady Lombard is, in handfuls.”

Lili looked sideways at her husband, who was now grinning a little too widely. “You know something I don’t, Sam? You wouldn’t happen to be fooling around with one of my crushes without me, now, would you? You know how much I hate that.”

“Haven’t touched a hair on her red-rinsed head,” Sam vowed. “But Bert gets chatty after a good rogering.”

“With you or with her?”

“Take your pick, luv.”

“God, you’re lucky. He’s just my type.”

“He is,” Sam agreed, “all gruff and gentle.”

“And Phryne adores him. I’d’ve jumped him in a heartbeat long before now, but he seems nervous about looking at me for too long. What I wouldn’t give to go to bed with him... or with Angela... or with both of them, oh _God_ , I’m getting wet just at the thought...!”

Sam’s smile became positively wicked. “You could ask Phryne or Jack how to work it. They’ve already had the pleasure of playing mixed doubles with ‘em.”

“Ugh. Lucky bastards, the both of them.”

“I’m a pretty lucky bastard myself, y’know.” Sam ran a hand down Lili’s back and squeezed her buttock playfully. She smiled and let herself be drawn close against his chest for a warm kiss, and then pushed him away.

“You are that, Sam, but you’re also much too good-looking for this lady’s virtue. Go get your buckskins on and then bugger off up to the house. I’ve got to get dressed and you’re distracting me.”

“Yes’m,” Sam agreed, admiring her as she bounded up off the bed. Then he sighed and went to find his own clothes. He wasn’t relishing pulling on those tight trousers over his demanding erection, and Jack and Phryne weren’t likely to have time to sport with him. But Bert, now, there was a thought... He knew there was a nice private billiard room somewhere in the house. Maybe he could ask Phryne to tell Bert to meet him there for a bit of a romp, and put in a good word for Lili in the bargain.

***

“Oh God, Bert, she’s staring daggers at me already. I don’t have anything on my face do I?” Angela turned to face Bert for a quick inspection.

“No, love, you look beautiful. You even have your war paint in place.”

She narrowed her eyes and with just the barest of movements, stuck the tip of her tongue out at him. He loved to call her reddest lipstick her “war paint,” as it was the shade she wore when she needed to mean business. An evening under the withering glare of Prudence Stanley absolutely justified wearing her Jungle Red Lipstick.

The daggers turned to diamonds as she looked over to Bert, dressed up in his costume. “Why Albert, you do make a dashing figure this evening! You are practically the spitting image of my dear cousin Phillip. I think his portrait is up in the gaming parlour.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Stanley, you are a vision this evening.” He kissed her gloved hand. “I believe you remember the Lady Lombard?”

“Oh, ‘Lady’ is it, dear? Hmmm, I wasn’t sure they had those in America?”

She had almost managed to make it sound like an innocent question. Angela chose to play the ditzy American for the sake of Bert.

“Why sure, Mrs. Stanley, quite a few British families chose to send their best and brightest to the U.S. while their other relations chose to strike out on their own here in the Antipodes.”

She finished with the brightest of smiles.

“Angela, darling, there you are! So glad you are here. Dot’s been lost to me finishing Jane’s hair and there are so many things I could use another set of eyes on!”

Phryne swooped in and scooped her up so fast, it left Aunt Prudence speechless and blinking at Bert, who was trying his best not to laugh at how artfully Miss Fisher had just rescued his wife.

“Thank you, Phryne,” Angela said when they were out of earshot. “Oh, when is she going to believe I love Bert and would never hurt him?”

“Oh, she means well. You get used it… mostly. Now come with me to the library. We don’t have much time before people start arriving and I feel we have so much to catch up on. Including me getting a better look at this confection you are wearing.”

***

“Whaddaya want, Sam?” Bert grumbled, stalking into the Stanley house's elegant gaming parlour. “Miss Fisher told me you were lookin’ for me, and I still gotta finish gettin’ ready for this bean-feast of Janey’s...” Bert crossed the threshold into the parlour and then trailed off with a blink and a gulp.

Sam (positioned under the portrait of Cousin Phillip) leaned over the billiard table to line up a shot, knowing full well that his position over the table caused his breeches to outline his arse beautifully. Maybe not quite how the Georgian gents had worn their trousers, but he’d sweet-talked his tailor into highlighting his assets. He grinned over his shoulder. “Enjoying the view?”

“...A bit, yeah.”

“You’re not too hard on the eyes, either.”

Bert snorted. “I can’t complain, if that’s what you were anglin’ for.”

The birch-and-ivory cue rocked three times across the bridge of Sam’s long fingers, and then with a sharp crack the ball shot across the green felt and disappeared into the corner pocket. Sam straightened up and turned round, his blue eyes raking over Bert appraisingly. “Shut the door, mate.”

“You tryin’ to lure me into your clutches?” Bert joked, doing as he was asked.

Sam’s smile, the wicked one, flashed across his face. “You could say that.” He flicked his fingers. “C’mere.”

Bert gulped hard and went into Sam’s arms. Sam kissed him briefly and then dipped his lips to the hollow of Bert’s throat, making him gasp. “We’ve all been so busy preparing for this party,” Sam almost purred, “there’s been no time to enjoy each other’s company. So I thought, why not have a romp before the rest of the swells get here?”

Bert shivered and let out a husky laugh. “‘Cause it’ll be too damned obvious in these tight trousers, once they do?"

“I’ll take that chance,” Sam grinned. He hooked his fingers into Bert’s waistband and kissed him hungrily. “Albert Johnson, it has been too long.”

“I’ve been busy enough without you tryin’ to get in me trousers...” But Bert didn’t complain when Sam swiftly undid the buttons on his breeches and slipped a hand down his pants to palm his erection. Bert rolled his lips together to suppress a groan and then he grabbed Sam’s hips and rocked his groin against Sam’s hand. “So what’s in it for me, besides gettin’ me arse pounded by a toff like you?”

Sam pouted. “That’s not reward enough?”

“Not if you expect t’ fuck me here. C’mon, mate, old Mrs. Stanley could walk in at any minute!”

“And you don’t want to give the old bird the shock of her life? Could be fun...”

“Oi. She’s been good t’ me. An’ besides, she’s practically me mum. An’ there’s _nothin’_ worse than a mum walkin’ in when a man’s about ‘is business,” Bert added, grimacing at the memory.

“I wouldn’t know, to be honest. Can’t say that I remember my mother, and Lil’s parents never let me near the place when we were courting. But I can make it worth your while...”

“That so?”

Sam chuckled against Bert’s lips. “My wife’s been after me to let her jump you, you know.”

“...Lili?” Bert’s cheeks reddened. “Lili wants _me_?”

Sam felt a fresh rush of blood shoot to his cock. “Y’know, you’re just too damned sexy for your own good, any day of the week, but all shy and blushing at the thought of a pretty woman wanting a fling with you?” His smile widened. “It’s almost too much.”

“But Sammy, you-you ain’t foolin’ with me, right? _Your_ wife really wants...?”

“Mmhmm. Says you’re just her type.” He tugged Bert’s lower lip between his teeth and sucked briefly. “She’s got quite a pash on Angela, too. So I was thinking... you let me have my way with you now...” Sam slid his hand lower and angled his fingers up, so that he was stroking behind Bert’s balls, nearly brushing his arsehole. Bert’s knees nearly gave way. “And then you and your lady can join me and my wife in the guesthouse tonight, after the party.”

“Fuck, mate... nnngh...” Bert lolled his head back and groaned desperately, but then to Sam’s surprise, he caught Sam’s wrist and stilled his hand. “I’d love t’ play, but I don’t wanna wear myself out before Angela’s had her way with me.”

“Angela gets to have her way with you every night—which is a helluva lot more often than I get anymore...”

“Yeah, but she’s got an excuse.” Bert gulped and grinned sheepishly. “She’s me wife.”

Sam blinked. “She’s your what-now?”

“Yeah, we went an’ got hitched not too long ago.”

“I’ll be damned. You sneaky little shit...”

“Haven’t told anybody yet.” said Bert, blushing again. “We’re gonna announce it at breakfast tomorrow, after the party... or we _were_ , until someone made me spill.”

“Bert, luv,” Sam drawled, “I ain’t made you spill anything, yet.” He kissed Bert hungrily, pulling his hands from Bert’s breeches and gripping his arse hard, instead. “Congratulations, mate. You two do certainly make a handsome couple.”

“Thanks… gah, you’re a right bastard, Elsworth,” Bert growled. “Here I am tryin’ to be a responsible married man, an’ you have to go getting’ handsy an’ fillin’ my head with indecent thoughts. It ain’t right.”

“That so?”

“Yeah… think you oughta make it up to me.”

“Mmm, I would, good-lookin’, but you did say you have to save your strength for your lady. Me, on the other hand…” Sam ground his cock against Bert’s groin and then pushed Bert to his knees.

***

“There you are, Mr. Johnson! What was so important that Sam had to spirit you away to the parlour for so long?”

He wasn’t prone to blushing but for those closest to him, they could recognize the subtle warming of his cheeks.

“Come with me.” His voice was almost hoarse. He grabbed her hand, pulling her outside the French doors towards the pool, and then proceeded to kiss her deeply. Lips parted, tongues darted past the threshold and Angela moaned softly. Just as she was losing herself to the warmth and spice of his tongue, her eyes opened in surprise. She tasted more than the tobacco, maple and coffee that was unmistakably Bert. There was a hint of salt, musk and peat, that assaulted her senses. These she couldn’t quite place. They pulled apart to catch their breath.

“Wait, Bert love, is that Sam?!” Her breathing had quickened, but he wasn’t altogether sure if that was irritation or arousal he heard in her stage whisper.

“He wanted me to deliver that kiss to you straight away, love, by way of congratulations. And it came with an invitation. Sam and Lili have invited us to join them in the guest house after the ball, for a night cap.”

Bert winked suggestively. Angela bit her lip.

“Really? Tonight?” Angela was almost giddy at the thought. Sam was almost embarrassingly handsome and there was something about Lili that was ethereal. Angela made a pointed effort to steady her breathing. Her momentary lapse in cool, banished.

“Oh, Mr. Johnson, you do know the way to your wife’s heart.”

He pulled her back into his embrace.

“Say that again, love.”

***

His frustrations temporarily relieved, Sam made his way back to the main ballroom, where he found his wife chatting with Dr. MacMillan (looking entirely too dashing in her regimentals) and Rosie Sanderson (about whose charms Jack was silent). Sam greeted them both and then drew Lili off. “We’re having guests for drinks tonight,” he murmured, using the pretense of helping fix her pearl necklace to bend over and whisper in her ear. “Bert and I... discussed things.”

Lili glanced sideways at him, smelling lingering scents that were not his own. “Is that so? Then perhaps I should take an opportunity to... discuss things with Bert. Or perhaps with Angela... whenever they appear. I hope you didn’t use Bert too soundly.”

Sam chuckled at that and whispered something else in Lili’s ear. She jerked back, startled, and stared at him. Then she smiled. “Well,” she purred, catching sight of Bert and Angela finally appearing in the ballroom. “Now we simply _must_ congratulate them properly.”

They milled about the ballroom for a little while, stopping to chat briefly with Mrs. Stanley (“Samuel Willard Elsworth, you be nice!” his wife growled as they approached) and the handsome older military gentleman hovering solicitously about her (“No bets on how they’re going to end their evening,” Sam giggled to Lili, as they moved away. “Nice to see an old bird like that livin’ it up a little, even a grouchy old bird.”), and covertly admiring Bert and Angela’s outfits from afar (“Did you know Bert could dance?” “There’s nothing that man can’t do, once he decides to do it. ...I wonder if Angela’s wearing anything under that gown?” “I doubt it, that things practically painted on.” “Careful, Lil, or the whole party will see your mouth watering.”) -while they greeted Jane and her friends and wished her a happy birthday.

“Thank you so much for the books, Mr. Elsworth,” Jane said, only stammering a little. Lili hid a smile behind her champagne glass. It was always an amusement to see Sam confronted with an admirer. “My friends are all insanely jealous of me, now that I have a completed autographed set of your detective novels.”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Sam replied, with a grin. “And the Dante?”

“Oh, well, _I_ was thrilled to get it!” Jane exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. “But an antique copy of _The Divine Comedy_ isn’t the sort of thing that interests most people.”

She rolled her eyes at her friends, who were well-educated young ladies, just as Jane was, and they responded by laughing and needling her about her bizarre reading habits. The young man with them only smiled politely at Sam; he had eyes only for Jane.

Sam joined in the teasing for a bit, turning it back around on the young ladies on the grounds that it was Jane’s birthday and that fair was fair. Then, catching sight of Bert and Angela drawing near, he introduced all the girls and the young man to Lili, explaining that she was the artist responsible for the jazzy pictures that had recently begun appearing in _Women’s Choice_.

This caused the young women to mass around Lili with such enthusiasm that for a few moments, she could barely be seen. Sam laughed. “There, love, how do you like it?” He turned to Jane and her friends. “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure conversing with you.” Sam took Jane’s hand and bowed over it with all the gallantry that could be wished for. “Miss Ross,” he purred, and chastely kissed the back of her gloved hand before moving away.

She and her friends were too busy giggling to notice Sam gently taking Angela Lombard’s hand and leading her away. In the hot, packed ballroom, they disappeared quickly into the crowd, so that the only people who noticed their departure were Sam’s wife and Angela’s husband.

***

Sam didn’t know the Stanley House well enough to whisk Angela away to a nice private bedroom, but there was a convenient out-of-the-way little niche not too far from the ballroom, just big enough for two people to press together behind a tall imitation Roman statue and a huge potted fern, and not worry about being noticed... which was fortunate, because as soon as they were secreted safely away, Angela reached up and knotted her fingers into Sam’s thick brown hair and pulled his head down for a kiss.

He growled softly into her mouth, eager to taste fully a flavor that he’d only previously experienced second-hand. “And a good evening to you, too, Mrs. Johnson,” Sam chuckled, when she let him come up for air.

“It’s Lady Lombard, tonight,” she reminded him, smirking and trailing a finger down Sam’s unshaven cheek to the strong line of his jaw. “And that? Oh, that was just a little thank you for the kiss you sent me earlier, by way of my husband. Pity he had so little left to show for all his hard work...”

“No worries, luv. Plenty more where that came from...” Sam nipped her full red lips. “Did he deliver my other message, by any chance?”

“Oh honey, I wouldn’t have snuck away from the party for a pettin’ session with you if he hadn’t. I’m not that kind of woman.”

“Perish the thought, milady,” Sam murmured, his most wicked grin climbing up his cheeks.

Angela licked her lips and then kissed him again, slowly at first and then with growing heat. He pressed her close against the wall, so that she could feel his erection nudging at her through his cream-colored breeches. She shivered at the touch of his hands, skimming over her breasts, and then he slid his hands lower and pulled her black-and-gold skirts up. He brushed his fingers over her mound and then clasped them against her buttocks, molding his body even closer to hers.

“My wife and I have been wanting this for a long time,” Sam rumbled. He dipped his head to press his mouth to her throat, dragging his lips over her skin. When he reached the hollow of her throat, she almost whimpered with pleasure, and he folded that tidbit away to tell Lili later. “I have so many things I want to do with you...”

“Ohhh, I don’t doubt it, if half of the things my Bert’s told me about you are true...” Angela flicked open the top buttons holding the flap of the too-tight breeches and snaked her hands the rest of the way down. “Wow...” She explored his cock with the tips of her fingers and then wrapped them around his shaft. “Now I’m _really_ not surprised Bert enjoys you so much, if that’s the kind of tackle you’re hiding. Not that you’re hiding much, in those pants.”

“Never did believe in hiding.” He covered her mouth with his and brought one hand round to stroke through the curls covering her mons. “I wonder what colour these are...”

“Matching collar and cuffs, of course. I’m an all-natural girl... _oh..._ ”

He dipped his fingers shallowly into her cleft, exploring her contours and spreading her wetness up over her hood. Angela sighed, and then let out a soft high moan when his clever fingers found her clit.

He rubbed her steadily until she came, clenching around his hand and whimpering into his mouth. “Fuck, honey, you’re good at that...”

“I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“So I’ve heard...” Angela watched, gasping, as Sam raised his slick fingers to his mouth. Holding her eyes, he sucked his fingers clean. A fresh wave of wetness flooded her cunt. “Like my flavor?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good thing, too. That’s just a sample, honey.” Angela traced her red-lacquered fingertips down Sam’s rough cheek. “Because I want to feel this stubble on my thighs.”

He reached up and brought her hand between them, holding it in his own. “I just need to know one thing, Lady Lombard, and that’s if you’ve got any problems with me and Bert being intimate in your presence. Don’t know if it’ll happen tonight, with you two fine ladies distracting us, but if it does...”

“I know all about that,” said Angela, a bit surprised. “Bert’s not the first fella I’ve gone with who’s had some variety in his tastes. I’ve never been around for that part of the business,” she admitted, “but I know Bert’s real fond of you, so if that’s the trade-off for gettin’ to pal around with you and your wife, I’m happy to go along with it.”

Sam’s smile was almost blinding. “You’re a real treasure, Angela.”

“Mmm, and don’t I know it.”

They shared one more quick, searing kiss, and then they tidied their clothing and discreetly, one by one, made their way back to the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Lili Elsworth are the fault of gaslightgallows. You can read more about them [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4830731/chapters/11064059) and in scattered chapters of ["You Asked For It"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4799084/chapters/10983662).
> 
> If you missed Bert & Angela becoming a couple, you can find that story [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6226756)


	2. A Very Desirable Partner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By jasbo - I hope you have a perfectly marvelous birthday!
> 
> [Your Extra Time](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7135796) is a sequel to this story.

Jane laughed as Cec spun her through the last figures of an energetic country dance. Resting a hand on her heaving chest, she panted. “Thank you, Cec. You were magnificent. I am dying of thirst.”

Cec’s eyes twinkled with disbelief at the compliment, but he escorted her to a nearby table where a waiter provided her with champagne punch. Letting the cool liquid slide down her throat, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh. That’s marvelous.” She thanked the waiter who nodded and smiled. Looking back at Cec, Jane saw that Phryne had joined them.

“There you are, Jane, dear.” Phryne had that particularly feline smile on her face. The smile that meant she had something up her sleeve. To be fair, her surprises were generally delightful.

Jane narrowed her eyes. “What are you up to?” she asked, taking another sip of her punch.

Phryne affected a look of mild shock. “What would I be up to?” Taking Jane’s glass, she set it down on a nearby table. “I just…” she turned and grasped the sleeve of a young man who had theretofore been half hidden behind her. Speaking to him, she said, “Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure when so much beauty is before you.”

Jane laughed at Phryne’s quotation and turned to look at the newcomer. Dark blond hair and smiling, narrow blue eyes were set off by a beautifully cut navy coat over closely fitting buff breeches. He looked to be in his early twenties, and carried himself with quiet self-possession.

 _Wait_. Jane looked a bit more closely at the young man, who was looking more familiar all the time. She heard the band strike up a waltz and took his outstretched hand, letting him lead her to the dance floor. As he turned to wrap a decorous arm around her to begin the dance, the penny dropped.

“ _Kip?_ ” Jane asked, her mouth hanging open for a long moment before she recalled herself and snapped her jaw shut.

Kip, yes it was indeed Kip, laughed gently. “I wondered if you would recognize me, Jane. It’s been about four years, hasn’t it?”

He moved smoothly and confidently around the dance floor, and Jane had no trouble following his lead as she thought back. “It was hard not to recognize you when you put your arm around me. I remembered immediately.” She felt her cheeks grow pink at the memory. Kip had been the first boy to kiss her that holiday at Queenscliff. The barest brush of his lips against hers, the most respectful embrace. But she had never forgotten it. Would never forget it.

“I’m glad,” he said softly.

“I heard about Mrs. McNaster selling her big house and moving to Sydney,” Jane said. “What have you done since then?” Phryne had told Jane at the time that Kip had found a new position, but had never specified what it was.

“I…came into an unexpected legacy,” Kip smiled. “It was in the form of a scholarship. I went back to school here in Melbourne.” Jane realized that both of them had looked over at Phryne whose eyes were fixed on the band, an irrepressible smile quivering at the corners of her lips.

“How marvelous!” Jane said. She could never feel disrespect towards anyone who decided on a life of service—not with the way she felt about Mr. Butler and Dot—but Kip had not chosen that life. Poverty and the dependence of his family had made the choice for him. During her short time with Kip at Queenscliff, Jane had found Kip to be clever and well-read, devouring any book he could get his hands on. It was right that he should get an education. “So what do you do now?”

“I’m actually just finishing up my schooling. Hopefully I will pass my qualifying exams next month.”

“As what?”

Kip looked sheepish. “A doctor, actually.”

For the second time that evening, Jane’s jaw hung open. “Kip, that’s _wonderful_. You must have worked so very hard!”

Laughing, Kip replied, “Not as hard as I did as a servant.”

Jane laughed with him. “Fair point.”

Twirling her around the room, Kip asked about her foreign education and travels and Jane raved enthusiastically about her time in Paris.

“I am truly grateful for my education,” he said, “But I am also looking forward to the opportunity to go abroad someday.”

“Oh, I think you would love it,” Jane said as the band finished the waltz and they stood to clap.

Smiling at her as the applause died down and the band prepared to strike up the next tune, Kip offered Jane his arm. “Would you do me the honor of taking a turn about the gardens with me, Miss Jane?”

Jane blushed, appreciating Kip’s courtly role-playing in character with the theme of the evening. Placing her gloved hand in the crook of his arm, she allowed him to steer her past the women in their beautiful jewel-hued dresses, the men in their stiff Regency finery, and best of all, Doctor Mac in her stunning regimentals—Jane gave a delighted little wave and Mac winked.

The ballroom doors were flung open to the slightly cooler night air and Kip led Jane down the length of the pool that stretched away from the house.

“So…” Jane felt suddenly awkward with this not-quite old friend, not-quite stranger. “Will you have your medical practice here in Melbourne?”

“If I pass my exams, yes. In fact, Doctor MacMillan has introduced me to a doctor who established his practice only a few years ago but is doing so well he is looking to take on a junior. I think Doctor Street and I will get on marvelously.”

“Why are you so sure?”

Kip looked sideways at Jane and a small smile quirked his lips. “Let’s just say some doctors have…problems with medical professionals whose personal pedigree is not of the highest. Doctor Street and I are both self-made men.”

“It’s idiotic to judge people based on their birth,” Jane declared indignantly. Look at Miss Phryne—she may have a title now, but she grew up in Collingwood. For that matter, look at me.”

Kip tugged Jane’s arm gently and she turned toward him as they both stopped walking. “I am looking at you, Jane. I have had a hard time looking at anyone or anything else this entire evening.”

Jane’s breath caught in her throat and she looked at Kip’s solemn eyes, which looked grey in the dim light streaming from the ballroom.

“I had the most ridiculous crush on you at Queenscliff,” she confessed.

“I knew. And I thought you were the most adorable girl I had ever met. And I never thought I would make enough of myself to deserve you.”

Outrage flooded Jane in a hot rush. “Deserve me? That’s ridiculous. You were resourceful, observant, clever…”

Kip’s gentle, gloved fingertips settled on her lips and he smiled. “It took me time to prove myself to myself. But one of the things I adored about you was that I never seemed to need to prove myself to you, even when I was just a grubby servant boy who slept in the kitchen.”

Absurdly, tears were suddenly prickling in Jane’s eyes. Reaching up, she clasped the hand that had moved from her mouth to trace the curve of her cheek with a feather-light touch. Gloves had seemed like the perfect period detail when she planned the party, but now they seemed like an insurmountable barrier between their hands.

As if he heard her thought, Kip bent forward and touched his lips to hers, a kiss that ghosted over her mouth, an echo of four years ago. Pulling back, he looked at her seriously, eyes scanning her face, gauging her reaction. Solemnly, Jane wound her hands behind his neck, earning a slow smile from Kip and his arms slid around her waist as he pulled her close and kissed her more seriously this time. His lips were warm and firm and Jane’s pulse quickened. She felt effervescent, as if the champagne punch that she had drunk before their dance had entered her veins.

Feeling Kip’s smile curve against her lips, Jane laughed a little. Pulling away, Kip glanced back at the noisy, light-filled ballroom and took her hand, pulling her a little further down a darkened path. Dappled shadows from the leaves of trees slipped across his face as he turned to her.

She thought he would kiss her again, but instead, he stripped off his gloves, dropping them to the path at their feet. Turning his attention to her, he gently tugged at the edge of one of the long gloves she wore. The slide of his fingers along the sensitive skin of her inner arm caused delicious shivers to run through her. A grin flashed across his face as he saw her shudder and he paused to gently kiss her again. When he had finally tugged the glove down, he pulled at each individual finger to remove it completely, then pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

A jolt of sensation shot through her, stronger than before and she gasped. Deliberately, Kip kissed up her inner arm, lingering at the crook of her elbow, his tongue flicking delicately across the sensitive flesh. Continuing upward, he kissed where her neck met her shoulder and then further up, finally brushing the edge of her ear with his lips. Jane realized her breathing was coming in short gasps at this point and Kip chuckled, his breath warm on her skin.

“As a trainee doctor, I have made a point of taking the study of anatomy very seriously,” he whispered. “The nervous system has been a particular focal point of my scholarship.”

Jane inhaled deeply and forced herself to open her eyes and look at Kip. “You have spent your time most productively,” she said, rewarded by the amusement that crinkled his eyes. “Do you have any additional areas of study you would like to display mastery of?”

Kip dipped his head to Jane’s throat, his lips softly caressing and sending more frissons through her body. “That depends,” he said after a moment. “Are you in need of particular instruction?” Returning to her mouth, he kissed her deeply, angling his head. His tongue flicked across her lips and she opened them. She had devoured Phryne’s shelves of erotic literature and depending on the day the notion of involving tongues in kissing had either thrilled or vaguely appalled her. But this…this definitely fell on the “thrilling” side of the ledger. Kip’s mouth tasted faintly of whiskey and his tongue stroked across hers in a way that made her feel both electrified and languid at the same time.

_How is that possible?_

He pulled away from her, smiling eyes scanning her face. “So?” He asked.

Jane blinked. Oh. He had asked her a question before. _What was it?_ She bit her lip, sensitive and slightly swollen from kissing.

He seemed to take pity on her, smiling at her confusion. Cupping her jaw with one hand, he stroked his thumb lightly across her lips. “May I instruct you? Or, better yet, might we instruct each other? I am sure there are things you know that I do not.”

Jane thought back over her years of reading Phryne’s erotica and felt her cheeks grow hot. “I like the idea of an information exchange,” she said.

“Excellent.” He bent to kiss her again, this time almost chastely, but there was a lingering quality about the caress, a promise for the future. Bending, he retrieved their gloves from the path. Before taking back the long evening glove he offered to her, she extended her bare hand and stroked one of Kip’s cheekbones with her fingertips. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head into her caress. Rising to her toes, she kissed him and was rewarded by feeling his arms circle her again, the warmth of his body delicious in the cool night air.

“I don’t want to stop now,” she murmured into his ear and smiled to feel him shudder. Ah, so his ears were sensitive too. Jane filed that information away for future use.

“I don’t either,” he confessed, his voice slightly rough. “But you’re the guest of honor. It’s time to get you back.”

“But it feels like we’ve only gotten started.”

“Yes,” he said, looking at her face and softly stroking her curls. “We have. And that means we have all the time in the world.”

 


	3. The Elementary Charge of Detectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne was always rather keen to learn more about the universe's laws of attraction. (Phryne/Jack)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By CollingwoodGirl
> 
> Happy Birthday, SarahToo! By the looks of it, you've been a very naughty girl this year. Phryne would be so proud! Here's to many more! XOXO, CG

It was rare that the Stanley Estate held a gathering this lively, Phryne thought. Not in terms of numbers or frippery, of course, but because it was free of all the usual stuffiness and societal pressure that were normally the hallmarks of her Aunt's events. Her guests - or rather Jane's guests - were enjoying the party and each other's company immensely. It was, in fact, the latter observation that most peaked Phryne's interest. The room tonight seemed electrically charged and practically crackled with attraction.

At Jane's insistence, invitations had been extended solely to their family and friends. The only exception was a Colonel Bartholomew Joseph Hartswold, the great-uncle of Jane's friend Genevieve and - apparently - an old acquaintance of Aunt Prudence. But he was a jolly sort, Phryne was assured, with a penchant for wolfhounds and scientific theory.

"...Dirac. English chap, you know, out of Cambridge. Made a name for himself a few years back writing about wave functions, studying the smallest particles known to man."

"Yes, I've heard of him," Phryne replied, omitting that she had accidentally come across this knowledge by way of pilfering one of Jack's periodicals.

"Really?" he gushed, delighted. "Well, I shouldn't be surprised. Your Aunt tells me you're a fascinating study - and you know she isn't one to exaggerate a person's qualities."

Phryne laughed in agreement with the man's measure of her Aunt P as he continued on in his ardent fashion.

"How ever do you manage to solve murders, raise a young lady, and keep up with contemporary mathematics? Outstanding!" he complimented extravagantly. "And you're quite a showstopper to boot! Of course, that runs in the family," he added with a reverent little toast toward the corner, where candlelight glinted off the tiara sparkling in Prudence Stanley's hair.

"But back to the _science_ , my dear. Now, he's written about these magnetic monopoles. Well, I don't understand it, precisely. But he's either quite mad or quite brilliant! People are already talking about the Nobel..."

The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher nodded in all the right places, even managed to provide an insight or two when the Colonel inquired after her opinions. After all, she could work a room blindfolded with one finely gloved hand tied behind her back. And Phryne was always rather keen to learn more about the universe's laws of attraction.

"...So, you see, these particles can only have a charge equal to an integer. No fractions! The _quantization of electric charge_..."

But tonight... Well, tonight, Hartswold's excitable tenor had simply faded into background noise at the surfeit before her eyes. If her attention had been diverted by the blur of gold and pink that billowed across room, then the scene that had unfolded afterword had fully taken her hostage. Before Jack Robinson, Phryne had never known a desire so exquisitely entwined with tenderness. She stood riveted to the spot as her heart swelled and her insides turned molten.

"Do forgive me, Colonel. What were you saying?" Phryne asked sheepishly when she realized the older man was awaiting her rejoinder to his last remark.

"No matter, dear girl," he replied, patting her hand gently. Hartswold had followed her gaze where it had landed squarely upon the birthday maiden who had been standing on tiptoe, bestowing a kiss to the cheek of a handsome gentleman in green.

"Phryne! Really!" their newly arrived conversation partner condescended with such ease, it couldn't be anything but a regular occurrence. "The Colonel is still new to the Antipodes. The least you can do is to make him feel welcome."

"Missus Stanley-"

"Prudence."

The Colonel cleared his throat in an attempt to distract the ladies from the flush of pleasure he felt creeping across his broad cheeks. It was true that he was still getting his bearings in this place - attempting to put down new roots to be closer to all that remained of his family. But the unexpected reunion with the bright-eyed girl of his youth was a balm that soothed his skeptical soul and made him consider that perhaps a grace _might_ exist beyond particle physics.

"Prudence. There's no need to make a fuss. She's obviously smitten."

Prudence Stanley chafed at this notion. In her estimation, her niece had been smitten for going on three years. One must know one's limits!

"The prattlings of an old man mean very little when faced with such enormity of feeling," he remarked goodnaturedly. "Besides, _you_ dear lady, have shown me the kindness of a dozen maidens fair."

Phryne pulled her mouth closed with a click of her teeth. She realized she had been gaping. Not at the aging man's sentiment - but rather the intimate familiarity he seemed to share with her Aunt.

"Go and enjoy yourself, my dear," he encouraged with a wink and a gentle nudge to his much younger companion. "We shall catch up later."

Whether it was the heritage of her Grecian name or simply her nature, Phryne nearly always looked a gift horse in the mouth. This time she made an exception and moved to cross the room, when she felt a sharp tug on her wrist.

"I know what you think you'll be getting up to," Prudence admonished, fixing her niece with a gaze designed to freeze lava. She remembered all too well - and with embarrassed horror - the precise sound the apparently not-so-dour Inspector had been making when she had discovered them wrapped around each other in the drawing room after her last banquet. "I'll thank you not to cause a scandal."

"Then don't come looking for one, Aunt P," Phryne said sweetly, dropping a kiss to her elder's cheek.

"That girl!" Prudence huffed with resignation, watching her niece sway toward her intended target - who really had no idea the picture of a man he made in those breeches.

"A right spitfire," Colonel Hartswold chuckled, leading the lady into a waltz. "Reminds me of someone else I know."

Mrs. Stanley smiled in spite of herself.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

With soft eyes, Jack watched as Jane twirled away from him and into the outstretched arms of Dorothy Collins, eternally grateful that the girl had stumbled into his path (albeit with an armload of stolen jewels). Plucking up a crystal goblet from the table, he applied himself to a sinful berry trifle feeling entirely too satisfied with life.

It was a state he should have known would lead to trouble. Detective Inspector Robinson was never entirely comfortable with feeling comfortable. This long-held superstition was reinforced when Trouble made its presence known by ghosting a hand beneath the tails of his deep green coat. The silver spoon fell from his hand and clattered into the dessert glass, drawing eyes from nearby guests and a _harrumph_ from a dancing Mrs. Stanley.

Tonight, Trouble looked indescribably beautiful with her hair swept back and tucked beneath an elaborately braided fall, her fringe parted in the centre and crimped to frame her face in undulant waves. And when she moved, the gold and rhinestones of her gown glittered - shivering in her presence as he was often wont to do.

"Miss Fisher!" he hissed, putting some much needed distance between them. He did not think his constitution could withstand temptation without it. Her lust was practically arcing off her body and her touch had transferred the charge to him. He had begun to harden almost instantly. When he realized that his ridiculous fancy dress wasn't going to afford him the discretion of his three piece and trench, the ensuing flush burned right to the tips of his ears.

"It's good to know I can still surprise you, Jack," she purred, her eyes dark and sparkling and full of mischief. She trailed a bejeweled finger over his forearm, thoroughly enjoying his discomfit as he nervously drained several cups of sherbet punch to cool down. "Speaking of surprises, I need your help with one."

His mind returning to rational thought, Jack considered what she had gone and done now. They had already given Jane their present. But knowing Phryne's whims, anything from a cello to an aeroplane could be awaiting the unsuspecting girl.

He permitted her to tug him down the hall by the hand, past the winding staircase to a locked interior door where she indicated the surprise had been stashed. "Not an aeroplane, then," he murmured.

"No," Phryne laughed exuberantly, alighting sparks across his skin. "But, then, aviation is not always required to soar."

The purloined skeleton key slid smoothly into the keyhole and a wave of warmth washed over them as the door swung open. The gas-lit sconces in the hall revealed a moderate space which was home to an enviably large electric water heater.

After glancing down the passage to ensure they were entirely alone, Phryne unceremoniously shoved Jack into the airing cupboard and, spinning on her heels, followed him in.

It was dark in the room with the only light seeping in from beneath the door and she fumbled as her eyes adjusted. When her fingertips met the brocade of his waistcoat, she launched herself at him, pinning him to the wall with the solid weight of her body, her lips capturing what could only be moans of futility.

"Phryne--" he puffed, chasing his breath after she finally relinquished his mouth for air. "You promised."

"I said I would try," she simpered, tracing the line of his clenched jaw with her tongue. "That's not the same thing."

"Nngh... We agreed that after the last fiasco--"

"You should have thought of that before you rendered yourself entirely irresistible."

"What?" he cried with no small amount of indignity. "I've barely touched you all night!"

"An oversight that's about to be remedied, I assure you, Jack," she whispered hotly, running her fingertips through his long thick sideburns, imagining how they would feel teasing her breasts when his lips pressed against her sternum. Positively heavenly, she decided. "I'm talking about how you were with _Jane_."

He twisted in her arms and she was forced to take his earlobe into her teeth to stifle his protest of confusion.

"I saw you," she said, unbuttoning his waistcoat and running her hands across the fine cotton which covered his chest, "... being a real father to our girl... and she adores you. That's something I could have never given her, Jack..." Her fingers had found his nipples through his shirt and she trailed off to let the sound of his whimper wash over her, before continuing to level accusations. "...Something not even all of Aunt P's wealth and connections could buy. And you were lovely." She bit at his lips in frustration, as he battled with his sense of propriety which refused to encourage her. "You're so bloody lovely, Jack!"

"Christ, Phryne!" he begged, trying in vain to remove her hands from his cock, which had barely had time to recover from her first (rather innocent now by comparison) tease.

" _God_ , Jack, you feel... mmph." She choked down a sob as a relentless staccato of desire began to throb between her legs, and kissed him messily, anchoring one hand in his hair so he couldn't pull free of her. The fine buckskin had been worth every pound. It was as if he had been cast in plush velvet. Every ridge stood out, and she traced the veins and faultlines of him, savouring the hardened flesh sheathed in the unfamiliar layer of heavenly softness.

His muscles strained under her hands, as she kneaded his thighs and arse through the breeches then circled back to cup and stroke him, until he couldn't stop himself thrusting his hips toward her hands. "Please... I can't do this here!" he panted, recalling with pure mortification how he had crossed the threshold of inevitability under Mrs. Stanley's horrified gaze. "Your Aunt--"

"Will not interrupt us this time. Nor will any of our friends," she assured him, releasing him to slot the key securely into the door, locking it from the inside. She turned and leaned heavily against the door, drinking him in, silently cursing the soppy smile that broadened her cheeks.

Even in the faint light, it was obvious just how disheveled he had become. He was taking in heaving breaths, causing his slightly-longer tresses to fall over his forehead and cast cavernous shadows over his eyes. And the damned cravat had come loose and was being tucked safely into the pocket of his coat, when she stepped forward and threaded her hands into his hair. She pressed plush lips sweetly to his - opening her mouth a fraction - allowing the air to flow between them, not taking this time but offering, inviting him in.

Arrogant with the taste of impending victory, she surreptitiously peeled the coat from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. "Just... just kiss me, Jack."

Damn her! It was near impossible for him to refuse the offer of her lips. And he knew that once he began to kiss her in earnest, he would not want to stop. Kissing Phryne was more addictive than smoking opium - or so he imagined. Jack had soundly regretted admitting this to her in a moment of weakness, though he suspected she was already well aware of the fact.

He cursed viciously, then slid his hand behind her head - tilting it just so - and lowered his mouth to hers. Tonight's flavours of champagne and caviar and tobacco (he blamed Mac) danced across his tongue as he slowly deepened his attentions, drawing a soft whimper from her throat.

As he lost himself in her embrace, he allowed her earlier words to seep through his skin - through blood and sinew and into his very bones. That he was - in the only way he could ever be - a father. That he might even be a good one. That the once-fickle Phryne Fisher had chosen him, for she was in as deep as he. That they continued to choose each other.

Suckling lightly on her lower lip, Jack gently scraped his teeth across her silky inner palette and pulled her closer.

"Jack," she whispered solemnly, "I want you so badly."

Phryne trembled as frantic fingers swept down her sides, along her shoulders and spine. He would have begun to feel rather dizzy himself, grappling to undress her in the dark, if not for the sharp prongs of the gown's jewel settings relentlessly biting into his hands.

"I don't know how to get you out of this goddamned dress," he complained bitterly and, incensed by her snigger, tugged down the offending bodice to seize a perfumed breast with his lips.

He felt her ribcage freeze in place as she held her breath - determined not to utter a sound that might tempt a curious guest to disturb their activities. Jack was rather impressed with her dedication to preserving what little pride he felt he had left. It took him less than three seconds to sod the noble feelings and decide to use it to his advantage.

The underside of her breast was hot and dewy with a sheen of perspiration from being trapped within a foreign corset and heavy velvet (not to mention the heat wafting off the cast-iron behemoth in the corner). He lavishly traced the curve with his tongue before dotting her puckered nipple with a flourish. This time, she breathed cautiously through her pleasure until - with a wicked smirk on his unseeable face - he blew lightly over the dampened skin.

Phryne's entire body convulsed as she bit down hard on a wail of dark delight. _He was toying with her!_ How dare he! How incredibly unfair! How marvelous!

"Cheeky, Jack," she said with far more bravado than she felt. "But you'll have to try harder than that."

"Oh," he breathed from the general direction of her knees, "I intend to."

She felt her stomach coil with anticipation as his hands darted beneath her hem - obviously having given up on removing the dress outright - past her slipper, to cup her ankles. Slowly, he caressed up the backs of her stockinged legs.

This was a beloved ritual, and one he never took lightly. He closed his eyes and let the visions come. A slip of white thigh and a glint of silver, a kick of calf from behind a feathered fan, an audacious knee folded over the edge of his desk. Every inch his hands traveled brought more memories, both old and new. Occasionally he wondered if she had known this was his weakness all along, but he had never minded enough to ask.

The picture of Jack on his knees before her, with his hands up her skirts, was getting to be more than she could bear without receiving the attention she craved. Her relentless squirming informed him that his pace was perhaps a bit too slow for her taste. He had only just crested her suspenders and was tracing the edges of rolled silk around their orbits when a desperate sound detoured him from his indulgence.

"You want me to touch you now, don't you Phryne?" he teased, lust thickening his voice as her scent slowly enveloped him.

"Yes."

"Are you certain? I seem to be in no hurry this evening, despite it increasing our odds of getting caught." He punctuated his taunt by feathering along the delicious creases where buttock met thigh.

She was spiraling out of control with every filthy promise he made her. How silly it was, when they had first embarked on their partnership, that they had both assumed her boredom to be a foregone conclusion. But Jack had approached his education of her body methodically - as he did everything else - and now held in his flesh memory the knowledge of how to touch her with such tenderness, that she quivered in his arms. How to string her mercilessly along a seam of almost unendurable pleasure. How to, when she thought she couldn't take another moment, summon an orgasm as devastating as a bolt of lightning finding ground. Phryne felt her flesh engorge at the thought of him teasing her with those talented hands.

When he looked up, the light caught the gleam of her teeth as they sank down onto her lip to silence another keen. He could barely find the breath to taunt, "You believe you can endure it?"

"No." Her voice was thin and tight and tugged hard on his groin. "But don't let that stop you." She stroked suggestively along his neck before winding her hands into his mop of untamed waves for balance.

"As you wish, Miss Fisher," Jack vowed, his fingertips hollowing out the cradle of her hips. What he didn't quite count on was his own inability to endure it.

She clenched tighter, pulling at his scalp as he traced through her curls. Every downy hair on her body stood on end as the tension mounted within her, knowing that one well-placed stroke from him could send her careening down to the floor. Bracing a hand on his shoulder, she waited breathlessly for the torturous drag of nimble fingers across her seam.

At last! A gasp welcomed the whisper of calloused skin as it skidded across her swollen lips. And then... Nothing.

"What's wrong? J-Jack? Please don't stop."

"You're... You're _soaked_."

She couldn't help but smile despite her frustration. Relinquishing his shoulder, she sought his chin, stroking the soft skin beneath it with a curled finger and nestling her thumb into its cleft. Gently, she tilted his face upwards. "I told you I wanted you. Didn't you believe me?"

Jack's head was swimming as he rubbed the evidence over his fingers. How, even after all this time, did the magnitude of her desire still manage to shock and delight him?

"Lift your skirt," he growled.

Her pulse throbbed in her eardrums, muffling his words. She could hear only the deep, dark tone that penetrated her skin and sent her reeling. "Jack?"

God knows he did not want to ruin her costume, but she was coated and dripping with her need for him, and there was far too much impenetrable silk and beadwork between her cunt and his lips. And _why_ \- for the love of humanity - did he suddenly feel like Millikan, performing his own pornographic version of the oil drop experiment? His sanity was perilously close to giving way.

"I said, Lift. Your. Skirt."

As she stooped to gather the hems of her gown with shaking hands, he rose up on his knees to capture her in a kiss. No longer patient, his tongue licked hotly into her mouth - demonstrating exactly what else he planned to do to her.

He grasped her hips firmly and pivoted her to the wall, while she continued to lift and roll the layers of silk until most of the fabric was tucked into a neat ring that she held loosely about her waist. Now able to give her full attention to him, she tried to penetrate his lips with her tongue. But it was refused with a gentle bite. She might have been disappointed if he wasn't so intent on lifting her knee over his shoulder.

"Mmm. You know I like it when you use your teeth, Jack," she teased, settling back against the plaster.

"Is that a confession, Miss Fisher?" he asked, nuzzling into her curls and wrapping his arm around her to splay his hand under her gorgeous arse.

"Oh, yes."

"Show me," he said huskily, proffering his still-slick fingers to her lips. "Show me how you want me to use my teeth."

Phryne couldn't stop the moan that bubbled up this time. She loved it when Jack showed the devil inside him.

Slowly, she licked up the seam between his index and middle fingers, savouring her taste on his skin. She traced languid ovals around the pad of the longer digit, sensing the whorls embossed there which identified him singularly as _her Jack_. She lingered, imagining herself being dusted for his fingerprints - the evidence all over her body - showing for all to see every single place he had ever touched her.

His hand began to tremble under her ministrations, and so she grasped it with one of hers - holding it steady as she brought the edges of her teeth to his fingertip and nibbled, darting her tongue over the gathered flesh.

His moan vibrated against her and she found herself returning the sound - her own passion enflamed by his. It was a bodily reminder of a passage she had recently earmarked, _two waves, sharing frequency and phase, combine to create a single sound of greater amplitude_. She always did appreciate the opportunity to prove a theory for herself.

"Constructive interference," she murmured against his retreating hand.

His fingers brushed over her throat in tender affection. "Perhaps a more romantic notion in our case than the author intended... But... Quite, Miss Fisher," Jack replied, his heart silently soaring. So, his shouted-down suspicions were right... She _was_ reading his books. "Though I'm rather more interested in the study of friction at the moment."

He let her feel his warm breath closing in as his own tortured fingers ensured that her leg was still secure on the pillar of his shoulder. Warm, wet kisses were painted on the delicate skin of her inner thighs. Her muscles were twitching wildly under her skin.

"You're not going to fall?" he asked, worriedly.

"I'm afraid it's far too late for that, darling," she replied with a small gasp as he smiled broadly against her at the implication in her words. "It's your sideburns. They tickle."

He brought his chin up a fraction and swirled his cheek against her to feel her hands clench on to his shirtsleeves, to hear pleasure bubbling up in a hum from her throat. For this, he thought, they were worth the relentless ribbing they had garnered him at the Station.

Sliding his hand from behind her, he pressed his palm flat against her belly and held it there, tugging up on her pubis to better reveal the treasures that awaited him. With deliberation, he trailed fingers slowly along her labia - conjuring in his mind's eye the precise shade of dark pink they must have been - and he opened her up to him, revealing her completely.

He mimicked her demonstration with staggering accuracy, dipping his firm tongue into her cunt to lap at her briny essence before circling her clitoris with agonizing strokes.

Every breath was a gift to him as she sipped gasps of air and exhaled his name in hushed gusts. He knew what he had to do - unable to care less if even the Chief Super were to discover him now. Nothing would keep him from making her shatter in his arms. Without preamble, he slid his fingers into her and curled them within to beckon her hips forward.

Her body didn't hesitate to follow his command. She would follow Jack anywhere, especially when he fluttered so deliciously within her. She pictured his "come hither" gesture and her hips bucked against him when it manifested again and changed the image to one of him stroking along her pillowy, pink walls.

"Again!" she demanded.

And so it was, that she was trapped in the bonds of Jack's hands, when he brought his teeth down on her as bade and sucked her into oblivion.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

"Phryne. Phryne?" He kissed her gently, wrapping his arms about her and shifting his legs beneath them.

She had fallen after all. And Jack Robinson, the man who almost always does the right thing, was there to catch her. He was crouched in a squat, her bare bottom resting on his knees as her leg remained crooked over his shoulder. Her arms threaded loosely around his neck.

"Mmm?"

"Alright?"

Phryne kissed the creases she knew to be lining his forehead, "More than."

He cleared his throat roughly. Most often heard reverberating off the walls of his office, it was the sound she had come to associate with Jack denying himself. "Good," he puffed. "I hope you haven't forgotten that you still owe me a dance."

Her lips found his once more and, this time, he opened them to her. Her tongue swept along his, sated with his description that she tasted of the ocean. It mingled with his earthiness (leather and oak and always a hint of something sweet) and made her feel as though her entire body was glowing.

His mouth was achingly tender and his hands were warm and steady along her spine - despite the hard length that filled the space between them.

She wondered if he would resist. If he was only willing to risk humiliation for the sake of her pleasure and not for his own. The thought lit the hot sizzle of intention in her belly. As she returned his kiss, ache for ache, she allowed the back of her hand to brush experimentally over his lap and felt his cock twitch madly against her.

His kiss deepened in an instant and a growling sensation reverberated through her. It sounded like, _More_.

The buckskin was pulled tight over his erection, making it far too easy to identify the places she most wanted to tease. She made a V with her fingers and scissored them along the length of him, catching his cockhead between them until his hips bucked dangerously beneath her, nearly toppling them over.

"So, have you decided to fuck me, Jack?" she asked, her wicked tongue swirling into the shell of his ear. To sweeten the spoils, she slid a finger between his thighs and grazed his balls through the leather with her fingernail.

"Steady," he warned, fumbling between them to unbutton his costume with far more success than he had managed with hers. "Can you..." he panted, "Can you hang on?"

She wound her arms beneath his shoulders and wrapped her free leg around his waist. When she made to do the same with the other, he halted her with a hand around her calf.

"This one stays," he commanded. Reveling in her soft whimper, he let his fingers skim down her leg to its fulcrum. "Ready?"

At her nod, he kissed her for good measure - or perhaps for luck (he was not as young as once he was) - and, his thighs burning with the strain, pushed them up hard from the floor. Once upright, the wall took most of her weight and he tucked her dress behind her before allowing himself a moment to collect his breath - which was quickly stolen by her drowning him with undulant kisses.

Diving for stolen daggers was one thing, Phryne thought smugly, but that? Raising them to standing - considering Jack's current state of arousal - well, that was truly a feat worth marveling over! Pity she didn't have a bronze medallion. But she did have a pearl.

Stretching her leg high over his head to leverage more of her body against him, she pressed herself tight to his cock, catching his gasp with her open lips. She rocked agonizingly slowly, letting the flange of his glans catch against her clitoris with every maddening nudge. Her muscles trembled with the effort but the sensation was too delicious to stop.

Jack groaned into her neck as every pore in his body tingled. "That feels... Christ, Phryne, that feels so bloody good... Do you think you could come from doing just that?"

Phryne was - in fact - doing her utmost to keep from doing exactly that. More than anything, she wanted to feel him throbbing inside her when she reached her next peak. "Another night, Jack." Licking the disappointment from the curve of his mouth, she added, "I promise. Now, lift me up."

Lacing his fingers beneath her bottom, he boosted her another few inches up the wall so she could sink over him. With the position and her weight, he was buried within her in an instant and he had to summon all his strength to keep his knees from turning into pudding. The sensation was the closest he had come to experiencing alchemy since their foray into the manufacture of artificial rubber - and intensely more satisfying.

Pulling him even closer, she shifted her leg carefully off his shoulder to ensnare his other hip and grind sweetly against him. The addition of an unexpected twist of Jack's hips had her keening once more. "Yes. Just like that, Jack."

"Slow and close, then?" he teased, chasing the tendons of her throat with smirking lips.

"Slow and close," she confirmed, lifting her chin in hope that he might find the strength to devour her neck while he fucked her.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Jack Robinson was a man of many strengths, she reminded herself as he rubbed feeling back into her legs.

"I'm afraid we've creased it," he groused, attempting to straighten her gown.

A froth of laughter burst suddenly from her chest and she feared she had no way to stop the noise but to kiss him soundly.

"I do love you, Jack."

It was an earnest and unmeditated declaration. It was not her first but he could tell from her clipped fricatives that this time it had been said through smiling lips. He had little choice but to draw her to his chest and hold her, feeling more joy than any man had a right to.

"And I, you, Miss Fisher," he croaked into her ear, stroking down her nape to where her upper back was exposed. She shivered in his arms despite the warmth of the room.

"What's this?" Something caught in the back of her dress was tickling his palm. He tucked the felled fascinator securely back into her hair and grinned. "Shall we attempt to put ourselves to rights and rejoin the party?"

"I think we must," Phryne replied, sighing heavily but happily. She was curious about how things were progressing between the other charged particles she had observed spinning under her Aunt's roof. As if summoned by her thoughts, footfalls thunked along the hall, followed by a peal of guilty giggles. "Someone else may need the cupboard."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paul Dirac was a theoretical physicist who did go on to win the Nobel Prize in Physics in 1933. 
> 
> Jack would have been well acquainted with Robert Millikan's famous oil drop experiment (1909), which measured the amount of electric charge carried by an electron - otherwise known as elementary charge.
> 
> Phryne is less interested in these things than in how physics and atomic particle theory might be applied to her and Jack ;)


	4. Like a Fine Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As we grow older, we grow both more foolish and wiser at the same time._ \--François de la Rochefoucauld, _Maximes_
> 
> (Prudence Stanley/Original Character)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By CollingwoodGirl
> 
> Because nothing says, "Happy Birthday" like Aunt Prudence smut! XOXO, CG

The high-waisted silver silk affair swirled gracefully around her when she danced, and a glittering shawl of metallic lace buttoned with a small rhinestone over her ample décolletage. Phryne had insisted on commissioning the dress as a thank you for agreeing to host Jane's party and - loath as Prudence was to admit it - she quite enjoyed the flattery her niece's courtier lavished upon her figure. The entire ensemble, topped with her own mother's diamond tiara, made her feel rather pretty. Perhaps she should give this Fleuri person a try.

"Do you miss it?"

"Dancing?" Prudence asked, only half-listening as she watched the closest thing she had to a daughter slip back into the main parlour on the arm of the glowing Inspector. The impudent smile on the young woman's face sent a pang of... regret? jealousy?... through the elder, who turned her attention back to the man patiently waiting for her to continue. "Well, it is rather nice to take a turn with someone other than my son. And Albert obliges me, albeit at the peril of my toes." She smiled smugly toward the corner, where the unlikeliest of friends grimaced protectively back.

"That's not what I meant, Prudence." A lofty man even in his slippers, Colonel Hartswold found it rather difficult to have a private conversation when his dancing partner was barely five feet. He plucked two sherrys from a passing tray and urged her toward a seat. "I'm talking about companionship."

"I have plenty of companionship, Bartholomew" she snapped. "I entertain, sit on a dozen different charity boards, host fundraisers every fortnight, and when I'm not doing that, my niece is dragging me into some sort of scheme like this!" She gestured around the room with an exaggerated, but rather fond, huff. "There's more than enough on my plate to keep busy."

"Forgive me for saying, Prudence, I'm not one to mince words. But filling the empty space with obligations - no matter how charitable - isn't the same thing." He had known Prudence for too long not to acknowledge the truth.

"No." Prudence's mouth was a tight, grim line. "My heart was broken when I lost Edward. Guy was grown, on his own, making his way in the world. But Arthur... he still needed me. I think it lessened some of the pain, having my son to care for. But now... he's gone too."

Her drink wobbled slightly in her hand before she brought it to her lips, taking a fortifying sip. "Well, I should be happy! Look around the room! Everyone - my whole entire family - is... Is in love." She finished her sherry, not meeting her old friend's eyes. He was still rather attractive after all this time. Softer around the middle of course, but with the remarkably solid legs she remembered. She always did prefer a man with solid legs. His thatch of auburn hair had retreated to a snowy white wreath that encircled his well-shaped head. "I didn't think I would miss it this much. I thought that at a certain age, I suppose, the longing to feel it again would stop."

"You're never too old to be in love," the Colonel sheepishly admitted. He wasn't an unattractive man - and he was often accused of possessing an endearing charm - but he wasn't entirely confident that his advances would be welcomed.

"What are you saying, Tolly? That you're in love with me? Don't be preposterous!"

"I was once." He ignored the way she goggled at him. "Do you find it so strange that I could feel that way again?"

"We were only children," she protested.

"I was fifteen when my father accepted his commission in India and I asked you to run away with me," Hartswold huffed indignantly. "And you were seventeen. But if that's too much of a declaration, allow me to say that I find you overwhelming, Prudence," he pronounced evenly, taking the glass from her hands and covering them with his own. "Always have. You've always made quite an impression." When she finally met his gaze, he felt himself a young man again - perhaps at the most, thirty-one. That would do.

"We're older now. Wiser. Beyond the foolish mistakes of youth." 

He leaned in closer, catching the scent of her gardenia soap which only fueled his giddiness. "Why should I grow wiser? The older we get, the more foolish we should become, I say! Take the chances we dared never take, before it's too late."

She felt her nipples harden at his words - a sensation that had for far too long been associated with mere temperature - and she warred with her better judgment. Could she? No! This was utter folly! But his breath was feathering deliciously against her neck. "Enticing as I find your argument, Colonel," she said with difficulty, "There are reputations to uphold."

"And I find myself wondering what it would take for you to abandon your namesake for once and do something outrageous."

Prudence felt her blood pumping madly in her veins but placed a firm hand on his chest to halt him - before he could press his lips to her throat. She stood rather abruptly, bringing herself to her full height and creating a rather imposing figure in the process. "If I am to be _outrageous_ , as you say, I certainly won't be doing it in public view." She watched closely as his umber eyes burned to a bright bronze.

"What do you suggest?" he asked wickedly, surveying the room for potential impediments. The protective one - Albert - seemed to be enraptured by a buxom redhead. And Prudence's niece was thoroughly engaged in conversation with a rather curious regimental officer, when her lover in green swept up and whispered something that made him blush and her giggle into the back of her hand. No one was paying them any mind - they were all too wrapped up in each other. "Dare you leave your own party?"

Prudence Stanley arched an impertinent eyebrow. "What's good for the gosling is good for the goose!"

 

\-------------------------------------

 

"Your skin is softer than silk," Bartholomew gasped. He lay half-naked beside her on the bed, stroking a hand up the vast expanse of her thighs. They felt luscious beneath his palm, her flesh giving way to his gentle pressure. A man could get lost in that feeling, he thought hopefully.

She had been eager, if a bit traditional - insisting over his protests that the lights in the bedroom be doused before they undressed. But with her warm lips ghosting over his shoulder, he could no longer bring himself to care. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her tenderly, her wandering hands encouraging him on. A gasp tore him from his intentions, and he pulled back his tongue somewhat embarrassedly. "Sorry, Pru."

"Goodness!" she startled. "I wasn't expecting..." she stammered. "Well, Edward and I were always thoroughly _English_ in our affection."

Tolly's laughter broke across the room and Prudence found herself joining in, feeling the heaviness falling away. She snugged more closely to his chest and felt his expansive arms wrap around her. For the first time in a long time, she felt... happy.

"Shall we try it again? With warning this time?" he teased, ignoring her playful slap. "Brits don't exactly have the market cornered on technique you know. But if you don't like it, I promise to stop."

"Oh! Very well. If you insist!"

The Colonel insisted. Weaving a hand into her lush silvered hair, he tilted her head back to press his lips to hers. He took his time, kissing every crook of her mouth, before nudging it apart with only the very tip of his tongue. It slid sensuously along the seam before flicking in to catch just behind her teeth with a quick lick. Pulling away to better gauge her reaction, he was tugged back almost instantly.

"I didn't say stop."

Prudence marveled at herself. Once acclimated to the strange sensation, she now found she rather enjoyed it - even being so bold as to dart her own tongue into the Colonel's mouth to sweep along his. She looked forward to writing to her dearest friend about it... Though perhaps, on second thought, she should wait until Hilly was further along in her sobriety for that. A sharp tug on her breast brought her back to the man in her bed.

He had divested them of their remaining clothing except for her black silk slip, his teeth sliding along the only piece of fabric left between their bare bodies. A moan bubbled up in her throat. Her figure was woefully out of fashion for the times, but then, the Colonel was a man of her own era... and seemed to appreciate it. Thoroughly.

She had been worried, deep down, about being with another man again. Not that she had ever truly expected to be in this particular situation. And certainly not as suddenly as it had happened. But as the man's hands caressed her with reverence, sliding the last of the silk from her body, she couldn't say she regretted it. She had seized the opportunity with surprising vigor, determined to have one last sip at the chalice while the good Lord saw her fit enough to do so.

Grasping the Colonel's buttocks in her hands, she pulled him down on top of her and savored his weight pressed against her almost as much as the groan of pleasure that hissed from his swollen lips when she canted her hips toward him.

"Are you certain?"

She answered his question by taking hold of his delightfully curved cock and giving it an affectionate stroke before positioning it at her channel.

"Good heavens, Prudence!" he stuttered, "I'm rather used to doing the work!"

"I'm very glad to hear it, Bartholomew," she said with a naughty grin. "Now, put your back into it!"


	5. Late Night Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written by PlayfulMay

"Mac?" 

Elizabeth MacMillan turned with an unimpressed brow until she noted who was intruding on her very necessary escape from the whirl of party planning. Jane. Then her lips tugged themselves into a friendly smile, and she made obvious the lit cigarette she had been hiding. "If Miss Stanley catches me with this, she'll throw me out - red jacket and all."

Jane chuckled girlishly and poked her head out into the hallway just to be sure that Prudence wasn't approaching. When all was safe from the infamous aunt, Jane ducked back inside the room and closed the door. "You're safe I think. For now, anyway."

"Good lord, it's about time," Mac smirked, rolling her eyes and looking out the window. She had never been one to shelter a person - they were exposed to Mac as she was, like it or not. Jane had always been rather fond of her for that, and Mac of Jane for all of her acceptance and kindness. 

Jane regarded the older woman with admiration for a long moment as Mac took another drag from her cigarette and exhaled with exhaustion. She had pulled the tight braid loose to set her crimped hair cast over her shoulder, and Jane smiled because Mac could look very pretty but often cursed under her breath if anyone mentioned it. Jane imagined mentioning it, and grinned at the very idea.  

When Mac's slouched posture set in, Jane turned her head so as not to stare and wondered about the good doctor letting off a little steam. How much exhaustion had Mac suffered in her life? How many hard times had all but broken her? Jane pursed her lips and found a comfortable-looking loveseat to curl up on with a sigh of her own.

Jane had just turned eighteen, and her family had made a tremendous deal about that fact in the form of a Regency-themed ball. She had danced the night away with friends and strangers alike, and suddenly was glum that she hadn't seeked Mac out for a dance. Others had come to her, but Mac had never asked to dance with her. Mac had a dance partner that kept her plenty busy, of course, but Jane always preferred to show her open acceptance of Mac when she could.  

In place of a dance, Jane offered a question: "How is Rosie?" 

Mac smiled and leaned her head on the backrest of the chair, grinning. "She's fine, thanks for asking."

Then Jane smiled wider: "Will you tell me about her?"

Mac laughed. "No."

"Why not?"

Whenever Jane became indignant, she could remind Mac so much of Phryne. It brought on another bout of entertainment for the redhead who re-adjusted herself in her seat to view the young lady who had just entered the realm of adulthood. She figured she could be honest with her. 

"Because I don't wish to scandalize you so early into your adulthood." 

"I have Miss Phryne for that."

Mac snorted. "Fair point." 

"So? Won't you tell me about her?" Jane whined, curling on the sofa on her side to give the experienced doctor all of her attention. "And don't leave anything out!"

"Oh, I'll be leaving plenty out."

Jane pouted, but Mac ignored it.

"Rosie is a wonderful partner. She's kind and gracious and ..."

When Mac smirked - obviously thinking to something she thought not to mention - Jane interrupted: "And?" 

"And nothing. She's a beautiful woman." 

"How can you tell?"

The question distracted Mac from her gaze out the window. She turned her head suddenly to the girl rapt with fascination during their somewhat unlikely discussion. "What do you mean how can I tell?"

"You know. That you ... are interested in her?"

Oh no. Mac thought she was getting herself into hot water - this was often the line of questioning she came across when women were curious about other women. They wondered what it meant to be so attracted to another woman that they might be interested romantically. Mac felt awkward explaining that to Jane, but figured that she deserved the same honest approach nonetheless. So she put out her cigarette and began.

"I have been interested in women since I can remember, but some find that interest later on in their years. I believe it's all a matter of when a person is ready and willing to accept it about themselves. If they're curious, they'll experiment."

"Were you ever curious about men?" Jane asked, eyes wide.

Mac chuckled and shook her head. "Full of questions, aren't you?"

"You won't scandalize me! I promise!"

"It's a little early to promise that," Mac muttered, disappointed she'd already drained her glass of liquor and put out her cigarette. She felt that her conversation with Jane required as many vices as she could juggle.

 "Have you?" Jane pressed unapologetically, watching the way Mac's lips parted to speak and closed again a number of times.

"Yes."

Jane's eyes grew impossibly wide: "And?" 

Mac couldn't help but laugh. "Christ girl, can you give an old woman a break?" 

"You're hardly old!" Jane scolded for once, shifting on the couch to lean on her elbow - her hip dipping in against the soft cushion of the loveseat. "Come on - tell me about it!" 

"I will do no such thing," Mac was still laughing, moving the ottoman closer with her feet to cross her ankles over it. "But I will tell you that it did not tickle any fancies."

Jane grinned and blushed. "Was it awful?"

Mac rolled her eyes at the menace in those curious eyes, thinking that Jane was taking entirely too much after the prying Miss Fisher. Although Phryne had heard all of her stories long ago ...

"It wasn't awful," Mac started, seemingly uncomfortable with the memory. "No, it wasn't awful. It was fine, but I didn't really ... enjoy it. He was enjoying himself I think, until he saw how ... uncertain I was." 

Jane hadn't wanted to grasp logistics from Mac for her first time with a man, as Phryne had already explained the mechanics of such a thing. But she was more curious about the psychological aspect of trying desires on for size. Jane's smile had dropped and she listened earnestly as Mac opened up to her.

"I know from experience it can be very uncomfortable to watch your partner show any uncertainty in the moment, so I feel sorry for the gentleman, to be honest. It must have rattled him."

"Have ..." Jane started, re-thinking her phrasing. "Have any women ..."

"Ran away? Cried?" Mac asked, shooting a very serious glance over to Jane. It wasn't meant as a snippy response, but others' curious questions could often provoke a frustration that ran quite deep about society's entertainment with something that was altogether serious for her. "Yes. And more."

Jane felt like she couldn't breathe. "No ..."

"Yes, Jane. Sex isn't always fun and games. When you find the right person, it is ... but experimenting can lead to some very sticky emotions."

Jane grinned despite herself, having heard enough about sex to know that 'sticky' hadn't been an appropriate word to use. "Sticky, huh?"

Then Mac rolled her eyes with an accidental smirk, sassy to cover her embarrassment at insinuating such a thing to young Jane. "Yes. Don't say I never warned you."

Jane wondered so deeply if it were that way between two women as well, but felt unable to ask. Perhaps she had already pried too much for one evening. Perhaps Mac was already irritated enough with her. The question died on her lips. 

"Sex is always messy," Mac answered, having seen Jane's very real curiosity struggling in the yellow light of the room. "If you're doing it right." 

Jane snapped back to the moment at that comment. Phryne had always told her there was no right and wrong way to engage in sex. What on earth was Mac talking about? "Doing it right?" she asked without impulse control.  

Mac laughed: "Personal joke. Don't worry about it."

But Jane was suddenly wracked with uncertainty. "No - please, tell me. What does that mean, 'doing it right'?" 

"I just mean that sex isn't about just penetration-" 

Jane tried seriously to keep from blushing, but lost the battle almost immediately. 

"- It's about the whole experience. And things DO get messy, and that's okay. It's normal. If you're just going through the motions to accomplish the task, that's not the right way to have sex in my book." 

"Well ... what's the right way?" 

Mac really had that coming. "I don't mean technically. I mean that the right way to have sex is to ENJOY the other person or people you're with."

"People?" 

Mac cursed her own inclusive phrasing. Dammit. "Umm ... I meant person." 

"No you didn't." 

Dammit. "Jane, I'm trying to explain something to you." 

"So explain what you mean by 'people'." Suddenly Jane's eyes grew wide again. "More than one person at a time?!" 

Oh no. Clearly Phryne hadn't discussed it with Jane before. "No no, I'm not discussing that with you tonight." 

"Pleeease?"

Mac laughed. "No. Definitely not, Young Lady." 

"Aww." 

Mac laughed all over again at Jane's grumbled acceptance of her boundaries. "Oh, Jane. There is so much to explore out there. You should be asking some young man what he thinks, I'm afraid. Not me."

"Won't you just tell me what it's like between ... two women? Please? Then I'll quit bothering you." 

At first, Mac seemed uncertain as to whether she should answer or not, but then she combed a hand through her undone and crimped red hair and seemed to come to terms with the conversation. "It's ... it's very soft and cushioned," she smirked, finding the glass of scotch Phryne had left to take a heavy sip.

"Cushioned?" Jane asked with a quirk of her brow until she realized Mac meant the cushion of another woman's curves. 

"But don't you dare believe I mean soft in the tender respect," Mac threatened teasingly. "Sex between two woman is no softer than sex between anyone else. Let me make that very clear. If it's gentle sex you're after, that depends more on the person you're with than what they've got between their legs." 

"Soft ... bodies?" Jane ventured quietly, feeling quite indecent at the very thought. "Is that what you meant?" 

"Yes," Mac whispered back, teasing Jane's sudden shyness away. 

"But what makes that better than a man?" Jane wondered aloud. "For you, I mean." 

"It's not that I prefer a soft body," Mac smirked. "More that I quite prefer a woman's assets to a man's. I don't prefer the swinging appendage a man takes such pride in." 

Jane giggled: "Appendage?"

"Technical term much like the dreaded 'penis'," Mac snickered. "Would you rather I refer to them as cocks?" 

They both snorted with laughter at their own suddenly crass conversation when suddenly a voice from down the hall had them stifling their laughter. 

"Jane?" It was Phryne, wandering down the hall with a smile to the sounds of her ward's merry laughter. And was that- she opened the door to see Mac sat opposite Jane. Both of them looked enjoyably, guiltily immersed in sordid conversation. "There you are. Both of you." 

"Don't tell me your aunt was looking for ME," Mac teased, taking out another cigarette from her pocket only to have Phryne step over to her and take it. 

"No, but there will be no smoking for you. Rosie will be here any minute." Phryne scolded lovingly, always having hated the habit. She enjoyed the excuse of Rosie's dislike of cigarettes to steal away the toxic stick and snuff it out in a small ashtray. "And Jane, do you need help with the dress? Dot's not staying up much longer and I'm heading up to bed soon." 

"Jack's still here then?" Mac smirked, whacked for insinuating the obvious. 

Jane giggled at their adorable relationship and that Phryne was the only person she had ever seen take anything from Mac's hands without repercussions. Jane figured Phryne had enough history with Mac to do such a thing, but it was still quite startling to watch. 

"Behave," Phryne teased, stealing back her glass of scotch and winking over to the birthday girl. "I'll be in the kitchen." 

Once Phryne left, Mac immediately drew out another cigarette and lit it, chuckling: "She comes in, steals my things, and slaps me. I don't tell her enough how much I appreciate her bossy qualities ..." 

Jane giggled, quite enjoying the antics of the family and friends she'd made into adulthood. Mac was a unique kind of sarcastic.

"When did you start smoking?" Jane asked, interested in the hobby, but not enough to take it up herself. The look Mac gave her then said the doctor wasn't so sure about that. 

"Oh, she'll really kill me if you take this up," Mac smiled, taking a long drag to enjoy the peace and quiet. Jane had always been a quiet child, thankful even to share in silence with another caring soul. Mac hummed with happiness at the thought of Jane when Phryne had first taken her in. She was just reminiscing about how much Jane had grown up since then when she was stunned with another line of questioning seeing as the other was dismissed.

"Well ... will you tell me what ... it feels like?"

"Smoking?" Mac asked, hopeful. 

"No." 

_Oh Lord._

Mac shifted in her chair and looked sideways to the young woman staring at her with a curious confidence that rattled Mac. "Uh ... I'm not sure what you're looking to hear about."

Jane surprisingly smiled and gazed out the far window with her dress fanned out around her, imagining. "I like to think that my first time will be with a man. But I don't think I can be certain about that."

Mac's brow raised subconsciously, listening on. 

"I don't think I know the difference. Between wanting a man or ... perhaps a woman. Am I supposed to have a special feeling to persuade me?" 

Mac blinked, but responded as she would to anyone else with the same questions. "Everyone's different. Some people prefer the company of either or both but prefer one to the other on a general basis." 

Jane's interest was piqued then, her eyes glistening with renewed curiosity. "Both?" 

"You might be equally interested in both. Or maybe just curious about things." 

"Well, how will I know?" 

"You will," Mac grinned accidentally. 

It made Jane grin all the same, feeling the act to be infectious. "Tell me what it was like for you?"

"I don't know if I should-" 

"Please? Oh, come on - please? Since when have you known me to pry like this? Have I ever pestered you this much before?" 

Mac sighed because Jane was right. She was not one to pry into others' business unnecessarily. Mac had helped so many others feel comfortable with the possibilities of their own sexuality - why not Jane? 

With Jane's eyes fastened on her, Mac took another drag of her cigarette and looked out the dark window. It was a long time since she had recounted her first time with a woman. She exhaled and put out her cigarette, chuckling when she noticed the entranced look on young Jane's face. 

"I didn't think I'd ever get to have sex with a woman, to be honest. I was rather awkward around women in my younger years."

Jane's gaze fixed with purpose at the start of the story, curling up on the couch with anticipation. She watched very carefully as Mac interlocked her fingers over her stomach - the doctor obviously thinking back to the memory. 

"I had kissed other women before, but to be honest - for me - I knew I was interested in women long before that. I always felt different, and certainly I was. And as kisses developed into touching, there became a certain kind of need that I couldn't ignore. It had me almost desperate to know another woman's body like I knew mine." 

Jane's eyes were wide, watching Mac with fascination. "And?" 

Mac smiled: "It was every bit as good as I thought it would be. It would have been even better had I not been so nervous and fumbling." 

Jane tried to imagine what Mac might be like as a nervous virgin, and she laughed at the very notion. She couldn't picture it. 

"It's true - I was just as lame as any inexperienced youth," Mac explained, pointedly looking to Jane. "First times are not all they're cracked up to be. But they are a lasting memory of fondness, so long as you share it with someone who respects you and your body."

Jane nodded her head. "I will ... so, who was the woman?" 

"She was a woman I'd seen time-and-time again out by the market square. And finally one day, I stopped and talked with her and told her she was remarkably beautiful." 

Jane smiled. 

"She found it endearing, although she was admittedly a virgin herself." 

"No!"

"Oh yes. We were both inexperienced, but that didn't stop us ..." when Mac's grin broke out in full swing, she continued so as not to get caught up in her thoughts. "Yes, she was an adventurous woman, but nervous when it came down to it. After all our romancing."

Jane was so invested, she couldn't restrain herself from prying further: "What happened?"

Mac took in the sight of the girl - eyes wide and a blush to her cheeks - and couldn't help but see herself in Jane. Mac had been so curious as a younger woman, too. She had indulged in her fair share of stories, and felt she ought to pay it forward, so she smiled and went on.

"Well, Hellen asked me to-"

"Her name was Hellen?"

Mac chuckled at Jane's youthful impatience, but cleared her throat and replied as seriously as possible. "Yes. And she asked me to walk her through it all." 

"But you were a virgin yourself?"

"I guess I didn't seem like much of a virgin," Mac laughed, entertained by the sudden realization. "Looking back on it, I must have seemed quite experienced to her." 

"So ...? Did you? Explain it to her?" 

"No, I admitted I hadn't experienced the touch of a woman before," Mac explained, smiling at the phrasing she had remembered for all of that time, mostly because of how Hellen had reacted to it - she'd kissed her fully on the mouth and taken her to bed.

"Did she like the inexperience?"

The memory danced around in her mind, and Mac relaxed at the very thought of that night: "Yes ... she did."

"So ... how did you know ... what to do?" 

Mac looked to her as if she had no idea what Jane was on about. 

"You know ... with your hands - or kissing - or anything like that! YOU know ..." 

Then Mac's grin cracked, and Jane was tempted to throw a cushion at her. 

"Oh, alright," Mac laughed, finding great humor in the look on Jane's face. Though she had grown older, there was still that precious roundness to the shape of Jane's face. It was an endearing quality that Mac hoped would never change. "I must admit I was no expert ... but I knew what I wanted to touch ... and I knew what felt good for me." 

"... But ... You were a virgin?"

"From _another's_  touch, yes."

"When Jane frowned at her, Mac couldn't help but laugh. Was she supposed to believe Phryne had never had that talk with Jane? There was no chance she was believing that - certainly Jane had misunderstood. 

"Oh," Jane finally said, too caught up in the story to work logically through Mac's point at first. "What felt good ... from you - to you." 

"Right." 

Jane blushed a deeper shade of red, suddenly wondering if she was making Mac entirely uncomfortable. But just before she could ask, Mac asked instead. 

"I can stop, if you want. If I'm offending you in some way."

"NO!" Jane gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth when she realized how loudly she'd answered. "I mean ... no, please. Go on." 

Mac relaxed and shifted her feet - crossing them up on the ottoman to interlock her fingers and think back to that blissful night of her youth. If Jane wanted a story, she could certainly regale her with an interesting tale. 

"Well, I knew what I wanted, so when she took me to bed, I took the lead. I knew I wanted that." 

Jane's interest grew. 

"I wanted to take control of the situation. I think I could tell just from speaking with her that if it ever came down to it ... I'd be the one to take the reins, so to speak." 

Jane nodded eagerly, but remained silent. 

"So ... I did. But as soon as she started to really kiss me ... I forgot what I was doing."

Jane smiled at Mac's sincere laughter, closing her eyes to imagine such a thing.

"I had never been kissed that way before ... knowing what it was leading toward. It was a powerful feeling. And kissing can get you into real trouble, let me tell you." 

"I'll be careful, don't worry," Jane teased, waiting for the rest of the story. 

"Well ... there we were in her bed - me taking control of things - when suddenly I felt her hands on me. And for some reason, I hadn't thought of that. I always figured I would ... see to her, but I hadn't thought of what she would do with me. It made me feel ... vulnerable and insecure, to be honest." 

Jane stopped breathing until Mac went on.

"And then she properly undressed me, and ... I was still insecure to a degree, but with her naked against me ... both of us warm and undressed ... I felt like I could really see her. And I had never seen a woman that way before."

Jane hummed with happiness at the idea, resting her chin on her crossed arms over the arm of the couch. Mac looked so happy re-telling the story. 

"A lot of that night is ingrained into my mind, but I'm afraid it's not entirely decent to share it all with you, Jane. As interested as you may be." 

Jane stuck her tongue out at her, but understood. She smiled when Mac arched her brow and shook her head. "So, I guess turning eighteen means I'm old enough to have my own experiences ..." 

"And old enough to judge which are safe, I presume." 

"Yes, _Ma'am, Doctor, Ma'am_ ," Jane teased, saluting Mac which sent the good doctor back in time to the war, where very different experiences shaped her into who she had become. 

Mac had bedded so many virgins she was realizing - throughout the span of her conversation with Jane - shaking her head at the number. More virgins than experienced women? The doctor had to wonder – could it be? 

"Mac?"

"Yes?" she asked in return, shaken from her thoughts.

"Would you ... would you be there for me ... if I had questions ... umm ..." 

"Any time, day or night," Mac smiled honestly, curling up somewhat on the single person sofa that had led her to believe it might be a comfortable resting place. "You can always count on me, and I know Miss Fisher would be an awfully good listener as well."

"With perhaps less experience in this ... specific arena," Jane said quietly, hinting at her point.

Mac thought back to her night with Hellen and the passion they'd shared with fumbling touches and whispered questions to one another. She grinned to think of just how much she had changed over the years because of the practice she'd had since, imagining that she did have more specialized experience than Miss Fisher, as Jane had insinuated.

"Yes," Mac grinned shamelessly, "Perhaps."

Jane looked over to the door when she heard a familiar voice: Rosie.

"She's back to get you," Jane teased, somewhat disappointed that Rosie was back from driving some older friends back home.

"Sounds intimidating," Mac chuckled, imagining Rosie would visit a while with Phryne before coming to find her. She took another deep drag of her cigarette and looked out the window before shooting a loving glance over to Jane. "Happy birthday, Jane. I hope you've had a good night - and that I haven't frightened you."

"No! Never," Jane laughed, sitting up to stare out the same window Mac seemed fixed upon. She had so many more questions. So many specific questions she knew were not proper to ask.

And then suddenly, Rosie's voice interrupted Jane's thoughts, startling both Jane and Mac with a voice that could cut through the silence.

"Mighty comfortable in here."

Mac almost jumped from the chair, chuckling as she coughed the smoke from her lungs and waved the evidence away. As if that might help her case.

Rosie cleared her throat and leaned in the doorway, staring at the back of Mac's head with an unmistakable grin, watching the doctor rush to hide the indulgence of her habit. "Uh huh ... well, nothing amiss in here I see."

Jane was grinning helplessly, watching very carefully to admire Mac's relationships with the women in her life. Phryne could take things from her hands, and Rosie could have Mac dropping them of her own free will. The effect some women had on Mac was a fascinating thing to watch.

"I shouldn't have," Mac admitted, still laughing as she moved over to the window to open it when Rosie coughed at the smoke. "Sorry, Dear. I was just having a lovely discussion here with Jane."

"Oh, good. So now she's inhaling this poison," Rosie teased, crossing her arms with a tight smile at the corner of her mouth. "Out to impress me, I see."

"I'm alright," Jane assured, having many friends who had also taken on the habit.

"That's sweet Jane," Rosie smiled, "But I'm afraid I'm not quite so understanding."

Mac crossed the room toward Rosie, smiling that she didn't pull away no matter her dislike for the smell of the smoke. "I'll make it up to you. Maybe I can help you in your garden tomorrow."

Rosie started to smile, but didn't flirt back because of young Jane shyly watching their interaction. Instead she cleared her throat and gestured to the hallway. "After you. I've got an early day, so I need to drive you home sooner rather than later."

Damn. Mac cursed her desire for cigarettes when it came to Rosie. She never did like the taste on her lips.

"Jane, it was a lovely party," Rosie smiled to the young woman, waving to her and then walking off down the hall.

"Mac!" Jane called quietly, almost chasing after her when Mac stopped short in the doorway and turned to her. "I just wanted to say ... thank you ... it ... means a lot to me, our conversation."

"You're welcome." Mac gave her a sideways hug when the Jane shrugged shyly, and gave her a squeeze. "Have a wonderful night, Birthday Girl. You deserve it."

"Goodnight," Jane said happily, watching Mac find Rosie at the front entrance - helping her with her coat.

Jane watched from the doorway like a child - fascinated by the way Mac acted so differently in Rosie's presence. Was it always that way when courting someone? Were women the only ones to impress, or would a man be just as difficult? Then Jane chuckled to think of Phryne and her beloved Inspector. Perhaps Mac was right - perhaps these things depended more on the specific person involved, and gender and sexuality weren't as important as others had her believe. 

Then Jane retreated back into the small study and sat in the chair that Mac had occupied - relaxing and remembering Mac's posture. The redheaded doctor always seemed so assured - even when harangued by a woman. She always knew what she wanted. Jane slumped in the same chair, thinking that she wasn't quite sure. She had always enjoyed looking at boys, but she supposed she had never really allowed herself to enjoy the look of a girl all the same.

When she closed her eyes and imagined what Mac had said - lying with another naked woman - Jane's eyes snapped open. She had never imagined it in perfect privacy, and suddenly she was realizing it was a dangerous thought indeed.

She was blushing when Dot came to check on her, giggling the reaction away with the silly birthday wishes from a woman who had always seemed like a sister to her.

"How did you like your party?" Dot asked kindly, following after Jane upstairs.

"It was everything I ever wanted."

 


	6. All I Do Is Dream Of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the party, Mr. and Mrs. Collins return home. Dot can't stop thinking of Hugh, and he is more than happy to oblige her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By Meldanya
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR SARAH. I hope you enjoy!!

Dot couldn’t stop staring at him, the whole tram ride home. He was so ridiculously handsome, her tall smiling husband, in his brown dress coat and cream breeches. She was openly ogling those trousers, panting to get home.

She wasn’t sure what had possessed her mind the past few weeks. Once her nausea had stopped, she found herself thinking about Hugh non-stop in a way she never had before — his broad shoulders, his strong legs, the way he held her, the way he kissed her, the way his bare arms felt around her, the way she trembled when she climaxed. Her brain was overwhelmed with lusty thoughts. What had happened to her?

Back home in their tiny bedroom, Hugh tossed off his brown jacket with a groan, “This coat was so heavy, Dottie. Though not as stiff as my uniform, thank goodness.”

Dot chucked softly at him as she absent-mindedly tidied the room, “The brown did suit you very well.”

“I felt awfully foolish — these tight trousers are ridiculous.”

“You do look so dashing, in it. Like Maurice Chevalier.”

“Well, I’m thankful none of the lads from boxing saw me like this; they’d never let me forget it.”

Dot crossed the room to him, helping him undo the buttons on his waistcoat, feeling her body tingle as she touched him. She said wistfully, “I like you in this formal wear — you’re like my Hugh, but different. Like you’re in a play.”

Hugh caressed her hair, “Well, Mrs. Collins, I must say you look lovely tonight in this gown.” He smiled down at her, “Almost enough to make me want to read these books.”

She laughed, “I tried once at Miss Phryne’s — couldn’t get through the first chapter.” She shucked off his cream waistcoat and almost purred at the sight of his braces, “But you do look very handsome indeed, Mr. Collins.”

Hugh’s eyes were glowing at her. “Dottie…”

She stood up on her tiptoes and pulled him in for a deep kiss, feeling a rush of heat pooling in her body. He pulled back for breath, “Dottie!”

Losing his lips was unbearable — “Kiss me again, Hugh.” He tightened his arms around her as he swept her into another kiss, and she felt his hardness growing through those very tight breeches and she felt a pool of warm wetness growing between her thighs in anticipation.

Their honeymoon had been nothing like this.

* * *

_They’d spent a week at Mrs. Moller’s Holiday Cottages, and it had been lovely to spend days with alone with Hugh, picnicking, fishing, cooking, kissing. But after dark in bed, everything had been rather dreadful. None of the books she’d snuck peeks at Miss Phryne’s had prepared her for the awkwardness and mortification she felt. She could tell he wanted her to enjoy it, but she just didn’t._

_Two months into marriage, nothing had improved. She was ready to weep with frustration — it wasn’t supposed to be like this. She remember Miss Phryne and Rinaldo the Rodeo Rider and the ecstatic expression on Miss Phryne’s face just as Dot interrupted them, and … Dot knew she was missing something. Maybe she was just broken._

_One day they were lying in bed together, and Hugh, stammering, asked her if he could try something a little different. She’d blushed and agreed. He started to stroke her thigh, and then move to touch her between her legs. She’d wanted to jerk her legs away (her mother’s dictates to Nell about girls who touch themselves pounding through her head), but Dot trusted Hugh.She let him stroke between her soft curls, and then hesitatingly slid his fingers within her, while caressing the sensitive spot just above._

_Slowly, she started to feel a warm bubbling that she hadn’t ever quite felt (it reminded her of staring at Gwilym Evans’ photo). Dot had a twinge of hope for the first time since her wedding night.._

_“Hugh, how … where did you learn … this touch would do this?”_

_“I … I … it came up in the morgue today … Dr. Macmillan was … had …_ ”

* * *

That was then, this was now. Dot smiled to herself, her newlywed self had no idea about how much better it would get.

Hugh was gently undoing the pins in her hair and letting it cascade down her back, “You do have the softest hair, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Dot shivered, head full of him. Hugh started slowly kissing his way up her arm, and then brushed her hair back to drop some warm kisses to her neck and shoulder. “This dress does make that so easy,” she whispered, wishing that she had the nerve to wear low necklines elsewhere.

Hugh stopped and smiled up at her. “You look so beautiful in this gown, darling, but can I help you with the buttons to get out of it?”

With that, he turned her around and started undoing the buttons down her back while still nuzzling her neck. She reached behind her and started running her fingers through his thick blond hair, closing her eyes and trembling with the thoughts of what was to come.

He slid the russet gown off her, putting it carefully on the chair behind him, and then, together, they started quietly shedding more garments: his braces, her slip, his shirt, her camisole.

She kept pulling him down for more kisses as they undressed, trying to remove any scrap of space between them (what had come _over_ her?). He laughed and stilled her, “Dottie, Dottie, slow down. We have time.”

When her garments were gone, he stood back and just looked at her, eyes shining; she had never felt quite so beautiful as when he looked at her like that. He ran his hands deliberately down her full breasts, and round belly. “Dottie …” he said huskily, voice full of awe, “Dottie, I’ve … you are just  _glorious_.”

She pulled him in for another kiss and then grabbed his hand, “Let’s get to the bed, darling.” _No more time to waste_ , as she slid onto the bed and scooted towards the pillows.

Hugh lay himself down next to her, stroking her hands down her body as he did, still staring at her with that look of intense awe. He stroked the side of her breast, the curve of her belly, the edge of her hip, and she felt so alive with every single touch — how was it even possible to be this sensitive?

She pulled him in closer, kissing and nuzzling against his shoulder, “Hugh, darling, darling, please touch me.”

With a small smile, he slipped his large fingers up between her thighs, and Dot caught her breath as her body contracted with the slightest touch: every gentle stroke of his calloused fingers through her wet folds felt like it was touching a dozen electrified nerve endings. He ghosted against her clitoris and she almost sobbed. “Hugh …”

“You’re so sensitive lately,” he murmured, as he slipped two fingers inside her and slowly started to pulse. Dot stiffened, and then relaxed to his rhythm, tasting the salt of his skin as she breathed deeply against his chest.

After a few moments, he paused. “Darling … may I?” He tilted his head down towards her legs.

Dot suppressed the guilty twinge of _sodomy_ that she felt every time they did this — she knew it was wrong, she knew her priest wouldn’t approve, but oh, she wanted it so much. “Yes, yes, yes, please do.”

Hugh gave her his huge smile, then crawled down between her legs, softly kissing up along the inside of her thighs. She propped herself up on her elbows to watch, tensing in anticipation, feeling a thrill at the sin. He paused for a moment to breathe, and then, looking deep into her eyes, he pressed a firm kiss right to her centre. She lay back onto the pillows, luxuriating in every move of his lips and tongue.

He propped her thighs up on his broad shoulders and buried himself more deeply, slowly swirling her clitoris in a way that they knew she loved. Dot shuddered at the touch, and grabbed his hair with one hand, while stroking her breasts with another. Every nerve ending was on fire — it was almost unbearable how sensitive she was, she wanted him to beg him to stop, that it was too much, she was too tender, but she knew that she was so very very close to release.

One more tongue swirl, and then he slipped two fingers inside her with a firm twist. She palmed her own full breasts, teasing the nipples and then came apart with a guttural moan. “Hugh!” Dot collapsed on the bed behind her, pulling him up for a kiss as she did.

He lay down next to her and gently stroked her belly, “You were so quick, love.”

She was still tingling, “It must be the pregnancy. Everything feels completely different.”

Just then, Dot felt the baby give a little kick within her. Hugh’s hand popped back, “Did you feel that?”

“Yes, she just kicked,saying hello to her Daddy.” The two of them grinned foolishly at each other.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Hugh murmured, pulling her close, hand back on her belly.

Dot sighed happily, and snuggled in close to him, “I love you, Mr. Collins.”

“And I you, Mrs. Collins.”


	7. Learning Curves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By Heavyheadedgal -- Happy Birthday!

They stumbled through the door to Mac’s flat, laughing and tipsy and still flying from their first public evening as a couple. “I have to admit, Jack took it better than I expected,” Mac said, kicking off her Hessian boots. Her feet ached from dancing all night, mostly with Rosie.

“I knew he would, somehow, but I couldn’t stop myself from worrying,” Rosie said, removing her earrings and placing them on the dresser. She looked at Mac in the mirror. Her eyes were bright with happiness; Mac thought she had never looked more beautiful. The contrast from earlier in the evening could not be more striking; Rosie had been almost sick with anxiety.

Mac walked over and kissed the back of her neck. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.” She snaked her hands around Rosie’s waist and held her tightly. “Shall I reward you for your courage?” She moved her hands up and cupped Rosie’s breasts gently.

Rosie sighed, and then removed Mac’s hands, turning to face her.

“Mac...” she asked, a question in her eyes.

“What is it?”

“Tonight,” Rosie said. “Let me...take the lead.”

Mac looked at her. “But I –“ she stopped. _I love pleasing you_ , she thought.

“I want make love to you,” Rosie said. “I want to touch you...the way you touch me.” She looked at Mac apprehensively.

Before she even had a language for it, Mac had always been assertive in her desires. She took immense pride in her skills as a lover. Every time she touched a woman with desire was a small victory over a world that saw her as little short of a criminal. Rosie had bloomed under hands, from a brittle creature to a woman of sensuality and warmth. She loved seducing Rosie, giving her the pleasure she had lacked for so long.

Mac considered what Rosie was asking: to give up control, to surrender completely. To trust. She looked at the vibrant, intelligent woman who had found her way into a heart Mac had believed broken beyond repair. Life had taught that pleasure demanded risk; it did not bestow her gifts on those who required safety. She nodded. She would repay Rosie’s courage tonight in kind.

Rosie kissed her softly. Mac closed her eyes and focused on the press of lips, warm and full. A woman’s kiss was the most natural feeling she’d ever known. In medical school she had studied the expert opinions on the condition of inverts like herself: frustrated mother-instinct, hormonal imbalance, wandering wombs. She laughed about it, sometimes, the prohibited delight she found in something that was, in the end, so simple.

 _For god’s sake, Macmillan_ , she scolded herself. _Stop thinking!_

Rosie’s fingers stroked her face, lingered on her neck. She started to untie the cravat. Mac drew her breath as Rosie kissed her jaw line, whisper soft. The buttons of her collar were loosened; there was hot breath in the hollow of her throat. Rosie’s tongue touched her there and Mac, with shock, felt her body begin to tremble.

Rosie’s hands caressed Mac’s waist, kissing her shoulders. She was so gentle. Mac tried to remember the last time someone had been gentle with her...not since those nights in Paris with Phryne. Phryne would hold her in her arms and stroke Mac’s hair, after. They had enjoyed each other, as two old friends, but Mac had not let Phryne take control, and Phryne had not insisted.

And with Daisy, it had been frantic, and gloriously fun. Daisy had been impetuous, intoxicating, and the pain of her loss would always linger.

Rosie’s hands slid under Mac’s braces, smoothed up her front, caressing her breasts. Mac sighed at the warmth against her chest, through the cotton shirt and the bandage she wrapped herself in.

Slowly, Rosie pushed the braces up over Mac’s shoulders, sliding down her arms. The braces dangled around Mac’s hips. Rosie licked her lips and pressed them to Mac’s throat, undoing the buttons of her shirt. She took Mac’s left hand and removed the cufflinks, kissing the skin of Mac’s wrist, then repeating the action with the right hand. Rosie’s tongue traced, delicately, the blue veins under Mac’s skin. Then with a swift, confident motion Rosie brought Mac’s shirt down around her arms. The sudden move started a quickening pulse in Mac’s cunt. Rosie ran her hands up Mac’s back, and whispered in her ear, “My Lizzie,” taking her earlobe in her mouth. Mac shivered, and a small sound escaped her throat. She felt dizzy, unsteady with anticipation. Mac had always enjoyed the confidence she felt, when she made love to a woman; now she began to understand the thrill of being seduced.

Mac reached up and unwound the ribbon from Rosie’s hair. She loved its colour, the soft weight of it in her hands.

Rosie stepped back and turned around. “Undo me,” she said simply. Mac’s shaking fingers fumbled with the small pearl buttons that fastened Rosie’s dress.

“There.”

Rosie shrugged out of the dress, letting it pool at her feet. She folded it carefully and placed it on the bedroom chair. Mac felt grateful for the pause, wanting to catch her breath, and yet ached at the loss of Rosie’s heat.

Rosie’s hands worked at the fastenings of Mac’s bandage, and slowly unravelled it from around her chest. Her nipples tightened in the cool air of the room. Rosie smoothed her fingers over the marks that were left on Mac’s skin. She stepped closer and kissed Mac’s shoulders, sliding her hands over Mac’s breasts. Mac wrapped her arms around Rosie and pulled her closer. The heat from Rosie’s smooth stomach warmed her where it pressed against her own. For Mac, this was the most erotic moment of sex. Women embraced their friends, held hands, even kissed playfully, but this moment, stomach against stomach and breast to breast, was only possible during lovemaking.

Rosie drew back and sat on the bed, looking up at Mac. Her gaze was a caress in itself. Mac stood silently, uncertain, waiting to see what Rosie would do next. Her plait hung down her bare back, between her shoulder blades. Rosie’s skin was flushed; it contrasted vividly with the white silk of her lingerie. Mac wanted so terribly to kneel down, put her mouth against the silk, suck her pert nipples through the fabric. Standing naked from the waist up, she felt exposed, revealed; it was exhilarating, and terrifying. Taking Mac’s hand, Rosie spread her legs wide and drew Mac to stand between them. Rosie sat, unabashedly displaying her full breasts and thighs (such a change, Mac thought, from her shy nerves, the first time), and took Mac’s index finger in her mouth, sucking slowly, nipping the tip softly with her teeth. “I love it when you do this to me,” Rosie said.

“I know,” Mac grinned, although her cocky bravado was rapidly fading as her desire increased.

Rosie put her hands on Mac’s hips, leaned forward and pressed a kiss just below her navel. Mac smiled and moaned quietly, stroking the back of Rosie’s neck. Rosie began unbuttoning Mac’s breeches, sliding her hands over Mac’s buttocks and squeezing firmly, kissing her stomach tenderly all the while. She tugged Mac’s underwear down, and her socks too, then said, “Step out.” Mac obeyed; Rosie’s quiet voice was more commanding than Mac could have ever thought possible. She was trembling, naked, and would do anything Rosie asked of her. She wanted desperately to be told what to do, to issue instructions, to relieve this agonizing anticipation. She clutched at Rosie’s shoulders as Rosie stroked her hands up the insides of Mac’s legs, up and up, then put her left hand at the small of Mac’s back. Her right hand cupped Mac’s sex, and Mac gasped.

Rosie smiled as she bent her middle finger into Mac’s slit. “You’re so wet already, darling!” she murmured delightedly. Rosie pushed her finger up further, feeling the tight swelling at her entrance, and Mac groaned. “Oh god, sweetheart,” Mac panted, fingers digging into Rosie’s shoulders, “I don’t think I’ll be standing much longer if you keep doing that.”

Rosie giggled—she actually giggled, and dragged her fingers up through Mac’s folds her clit. Mac grunted, then fixed her lover with a glare. “You’re enjoying torturing me.”

Rosie smiled sweetly. “Enormously,” she replied. “Consider it a taste of your own medicine, Doctor.”

“Mea culpa,” Mac replied. “Have mercy, love.”

“On your back, then.”

Mac lay down on the bed and tried not to squirm. Rosie crawled up her body and kissed her deeply. Mac’s hands roamed eagerly. Rosie’s tongue explored her mouth and she brought her leg up against Mac’s vulva. Mac’s hips bucked against her leg, and she broke the kiss, panting out curses. Rosie leaned down and pressed a pointed, silk-covered nipple against Mac’s own. “Yes,” she gasped, “that’s so good...” She rubbed her slit faster against Rosie’s leg, the silk of Rosie’s stocking creating an almost unbearable friction against her sensitive flesh. She grit her teeth and moaned, when suddenly the pressure of Rosie’s leg disappeared.

Mac opened her eyes and hardly cared that she whimpered in disappointment. Rosie was kneeling above her, her hair wild and her eyes glowing. “Not yet,” she said. The pulse in Mac’s cunt became a throbbing ache as she watched Rosie strip off her bra, underwear and stockings. She removed Mac’s hand from where it had wandered between her legs. She licked Mac’s fingertips playfully and Mac ran out of patience. “Christ, Rosie,” she growled, “if you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to lose my bloody mind!”

Rosie laughed. She leaned over and kissed her, rubbing Mac’s clit firmly so she twitched and writhed. “Put your leg up,” she said.

Mac did as she was told, without thinking, bending her left knee and planting her foot on the bed. Rosie’s fingers were building her up feverishly. “Rosie, please,” she begged.  
Rosie plunged one finger deep inside her, withdrawing quickly, then pushing in two.

“More?” she asked, sucking Mac’s earlobe.

“Fuck yes,” Mac panted.

Rosie’s fingers filled her, the fullness of her elegant hand pumping hard and quick inside. Her fingers curled up slightly when she pulled out, pressing against her as Mac thrashed helplessly. “That’s four, my darling Lizzie,” Rosie’s voice sounded ragged in her ear. Her thumb brushed Mac’s clit as Mac rocked on Rosie’s hand. When she felt Rosie’s wet slit rubbing against her raised thigh, she cried out with surprised pleasure. “Oh god, oh god,” Rosie moaned, thrusting her hips against Mac’s hard thigh. Rosie’s hand fucked her steadily, Rosie’s wet cunt spread against her thigh –Mac was overwhelmed with sensation and came apart completely, the sound of Rosie’s moans in her ears.

Her senses slowly returned, with Rosie lying half on top of her, still cradling her vulva.

Mac tried to say something but only managed an inarticulate groan. Eventually she caught her breath. “Well, you’ve been taking notes, haven’t you?”

Rosie chuckled softly, her face pressed into Mac’s neck. “I’ve learned from the best.”


	8. Introducing Ethel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By Fire_Sign

Phryne closed the door to the suite and exhaled loudly; the party had been lovely and gone into the wee hours of the night, but she was very grateful that she’d arranged for her household to stay at Rippon Lea. The idea of driving home most certainly did not appeal at the moment; she had much more pleasurable plans to end her evening. She strode across the room and knocked on the adjoining door.

Really, she supposed it was the closest her aunt could come to granting her tacit permission for the two of them to continue living in sin, but it did have its downsides. Jack opened the door, still fully dressed in his costume.

“Oh, good,” she smiled, reaching out to grab the lapel of his green coat and pulling him into her room. “You left it on.”

“That may well be the first time you’ve said that,” Jack chuckled, a hand coming up to her hair to pull her into a kiss. He did not do things by halves.

“I’ve been looking forward to getting this _off_ of you all evening. I’d have been quite put out if you disappointed me, Mr. Robinson.”

“Mr. Robinson, am I?” he asked, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Well, I cannot see you buying a commission, and as you so kindly mocked my anachronistic references to the London Metropolitan Police, I think it had better be.”

“If that’s the game we’re playing, I shall scandalise all the town by kissing you goodnight before we part,” he grinned, pulling away as if to leave.

Phryne laughed and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Absolutely not, Mr. Robinson. I can think of far more entertaining ways to cause scandal.”

The kiss that followed was hungrier, hotter, teeth and tongues and bodies pressed close. She moaned against his mouth, and his free hand slid to the other side of her head--which knocked her hair fascinator and left them both with a faceful of ostrich feather.

Jack pulled away, spluttering, and Phryne laughed.

“That thing is twice the size of your head!” he said indignantly. “It’s a menace.”

“I won’t hear a word against Ethel.”

He blinked.

“You… named your hairpiece Ethel?”

“Yes. Well, Jane did.”

“To… distinguish it from the other enormous plumage options?”

“Precisely, Mr. Robinson. A lady must be prepared for all eventualities.”

He paused as if contemplating something.

“...I’m going to find your dagger strapped to your thigh, aren’t I?”

She smirked. “I suppose you’ll have to divest me of my gown and find out.”

“Feathers first,” he replied, tenderly disentangling the fascinator.

The drooping feathers tickled against her neck, and Phryne gasped. Seeing her reaction, Jack trailed them down further--the curve of her neck, the line of her shoulder, down to her décolletage. It was disconcerting, to be touched by him without being touched, and she moaned at the barely-there caress.

“Problem, Miss Fisher?”

“No problem at all,” she said brightly. “But I do so prefer your fingers.”

He placed the fascinator on the table, then retraced the path with the merest brush of his fingers; a familiar hum began to pulse, low and tight. She exhaled with a laugh, reaching up to grasp his jacket and push it from his shoulders.

“Turn around, Jack,” she ordered breathlessly.

He complied; she laid her palm against his shoulder and stroked down against the waistcoat, coming to rest on his derriere in those breeches. Mmm, he was definitely keeping them. Perhaps he would take up riding--Aunt P had the horses, after all. She moved closer, her body pressing against his back as she slipped her palm around his hips, seeking out the buttons for the flap. She hesitated for a moment, felt his chuckle against her breasts.

“I never thought I would discover you were unsure how to remove a man’s clothing,” he said dryly.

She leaned up, nipped the crook of his neck in response, then hastily undid the buttons. She caressed him through the cotton of his long shirt.

“Oh, Phryne,” he moaned as she slipped her hands beneath the shirt hem to grasp his cock directly.

“That’s Miss Fisher, Mr. Robinson. There are,” she gave him a firm stroke, “ _conventions_ that we all must follow.”

She removed her hand and he groaned at the loss of contact, then turned around to kiss her again. Her hands came up to undo his silk cravat--more difficult than a tie, but not entirely unfamiliar--feeling the cool silk slide through her fingers. She grinned slyly, and Jack shook his head.

“Absolutely not, Miss Fisher.”

“You haven’t even heard my suggestion!”

“I suspect it included that cravat and a sensitive part of my anatomy, and after the last time I refuse to even entertain the notion when there are other people in the house.”

“Spoilsport,” she teased.

“I couldn’t look Mr. Butler in the eye for a month.”

She tossed the cravat aside, smiling coyly up at Jack as she unbuttoned the waistcoat and shucked it off.

“It was one little misunderstanding,” she purred. “Unlikely to be repeated.”

“Unlikely to be is not the same as won’t be, so forgive my cynicism. Now turn around.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Please.”

She capitulated, shivering slightly as Jack held her hips and pressed a line of kisses to the nape of her neck. His hands slid from her waist to cup her breasts, and she moaned as she arched into it.

“Such a proper lady, Miss Fisher,” he rumbled against the skin of her shoulder, pinching her nipples with just the right amount of pressure.

She reached one arm up, placing it around his neck, and turned her head towards him.

“I prefer to be an improper one,” she said, darting her tongue out to trace the shape of his lips.

Jack groaned, a sensation that she could feel with her whole body, and eased open his mouth to meet her tongue with his. She spun around, gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him down to kiss him fiercely.

She began to unbutton his shirt, eyes never leaving his. Halfway down she realised she was out of buttons; she cursed his fastidious attention to detail. She pulled away, intending to shuck the shirt over his head and get back to the matter at hand, but then she actually _saw_ Jack--hair disheveled, lipstick across his face, ridiculous sideburns he’d grown out on request, his shirt revealing his chest and making him look rather than an absurd sort of pirate, his erect cock bobbing beneath the hem of his shirt and framed by the flap on his breeches--and she began to laugh.

His look of bemused consternation just made her laugh harder.

“What?”

“You look utterly ridiculous, Jack.”

“Whereas you manage to make the most absurd costume look utterly natural,” he replied. “I could barely keep my hands to myself this evening.”

“If I recall correctly, you _didn’t_ ,” was her saucy reply.

“Mmm, that is true,” he grinned, pulling her close and lowering his mouth to hers. “It was a terrible idea anyway.”

She closed the distance. It was no use; they were both laughing now--she could feel his lips warring between kissing and smiling, and she chuckled again.

“Alright,” he conceded. “Let’s get you out of this dress.”

She pirouetted with a flourish, which just set him off again; she moved so her entire body was pressed against his, feeling his erection against her back.

“Phryne, I cannot reach your buttons like this,” he groaned, hand moving across her abdomen to keep her pressed exactly where she was.

“That’s Miss Fisher, Mr. Robinson. Such liberties!”

“I’d like to be taking bigger liberties than that, Miss Fisher,” he breathed against her ear, the sensation heading straight between her legs until she ached.

She slipped from his hold.

“Get these buttons undone _now_ ,” she ordered breathlessly over her shoulder.

He obliged, allowing the gown to slip to the floor with a quiet thunk; Phryne turned, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he took her in. She’d worn a soft corset, garter and stockings, but--as he taken such delicious advantage of earlier in the evening--left the knickers behind.

“Historical accuracy,” she said primly.

His answering smile was wicked and lustful. Glancing down, Phryne saw his cock--still protruding from the cutaway--twitch. She dropped to her knees, took him in her mouth, executed a maneuver she’d learnt from an Italian architect whose passionate blood and professional attention to detail made him a lethal combination, and laughed as his knees nearly buckled.

“That easy, Mr. Robinson?”

His hands were threaded through her hair, not constraining; a gentle request.

“Onto the bed,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his erection. “Can’t have you collapsing mid-coitus. And take the clothes off.”

She watched as he did, laughing when he fell backwards onto the bed while attempting to remove the boots and then the stockings.

“You could help, Miss Fisher,” he reprimanded.

“But this is so much more _fun_.”

She reached behind her, deftly unknotting the soft tie on her corset, and removed it.

“Leave the stockings on,” Jack requested; he had paused, one of his own stockings off and one on, just to watch her; the realisation he’d never gotten used to the sight always surprised her.

“Focus, Jack. Or do I have to undress you myself?” she asked imperiously.

He shed the last of his clothes and lay on the bed, completely naked. She cast an approving eye down his body. He really was a delightful specimen; the broad shoulders, the sinewy muscles, the smattering of hair in his chest, the taut stomach, the cyclist’s thighs, the crooked fingers beckoning her closer. Impossible to resist, not that she’d been very good at resisting temptation to begin with.

She crossed the room quickly, vaulting neatly on the bed and moving to straddling Jack.

“Hello again,” she smirked, scraping her nails down his chest and then pressing consolatory kisses to the marks left behind.

She slithered downwards, readying him once more with her mouth, a hand pressed to his chest to keep him reclined. Then she rose back up, positioned the head of his cock and sunk onto him. He felt so _good_.

Her head lolled back as she began to move, lost in the sensations; from the corner of her eye she caught sight of them in the mirror of her dressing table, and she turned her head to look. They made quite the sight; the sheen of sweat on skin, the way they moved together so perfectly, muscles rippling. She closed her eyes to appreciate the other sensations, the fullness of him inside her, their scents mingling to create something unique to them, the sound of their breathing growing shorter and tighter as they sought their peaks, the feel of his thumb pressing her clit to send her over. Her eyes shot open, and in the instant all she noticed was the absurdity of the way his free hand spanned her entire rib cage.

She came with a high, desperate keen that became giggles as she collapsed against him.

“Glad I am at least sufficiently diverting,” he said, his accompanying chortle rolling through her body.

“Oh, I am excessively diverted, Mr. Robinson,” she said softly, reaching out to trace the shape of his lips, his nose, his cheekbones. “And I am very glad that you are here with me.”

“Likewise, Miss Fisher. Likewise.”


	9. She Stoops to Conquer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A recently single Margaret Fisher finds herself with Bart Tarrant at the end of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By Meldanya
> 
> Happy Birthday again, Sarah!! Since Prudence got some earlier, it’s only fair that her sister gets some too.
> 
> For reference, the works Bart and Maggie are quoting are (in order) Romeo and Juliet, Byron’s Don Juan, Homer’s Iliad, Oliver Goldsmith’s She Stoops to Conquer, As You Like It, Mansfield Park, and The Tempest. (Also, many thanks to Jasbo for the quotation game inspiration).

The party was long over when two straggling guests returned from a their long garden walk.

“Oh, dear!” cried the woman, looking at the deserted room, with only a very few sleepy servants tidying left. “It’s much later than I thought! We missed the entire rest of the party.”

” _Night’s candle are all burnt out,_ ” murmured her companion. “It did seem like quite the party, what little we saw. Much more intriguing than your sister’s normal affairs.” 

“Going for the easy option of Romeo and Juliet, Bart? You can do better,” laughed the woman. “Yes, Phryne’s lot does know how to enjoy themselves. _Let them have wine and women, mirth and laughter._ ”

“And you’ve parried with Lord Byron! Very period appropriate,” he grabbed a still half-full bottle of champagne from a passing sideboard. “One final nightcap before the early fingered-dawn, Lady Fisher?”

“Indeed, Mr. Tarrant,” Margaret gave Bart what she knew was a winning smile. “Homer, I believe? Ran out of theatre quotes, have you?”

“Never!” 

Bart Tarrant eyed Margaret Fisher once again as he poured the champagne. She’d selected her dress from his theatre’s supply. She’d gone for a Georgian costume, rather than than regency, in a rich purple gown, shot with silver, hair dressed up in elegant curls that spilled halfway down her slender neck. He’d tried to match her with his deep royal waistcoat, but he always felt a little bit shabby next to her easy grace. 

They’d started up their old friendship again ever since she had returned to Australia without her husband. The baroness had thrown herself into the theatre community — Bart had found himself utterly absorbed by her more and more as the year went on. 

They had become very close indeed, but could be even closer. He handed her a champagne glass with a flourish, “For my lady.” 

Margaret took it with a small courtesy. “Thank you, good sir.” She sighed as she looked around the room. “I find I envy them all — my life has had very little of this,” she gestured to the remnants of the chaotic, lavish party. 

“It makes one feel one’s age,” Bart agreed, “remembering the tumultuous passion of youth.”

“I don’t particularly want my youth back,” said Maggie and then smiled while quoting, “ _I love everything that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine._ ”

“Damn, I’d been trying to work in Goldsmith all night and you beat me to it!” Bart laughed and then sobered, taking Maggie’s hand and stroking it, “Margaret, my dear, let’s not dwell on our misspent youths — _one man in his time plays many parts_ — let us focus on the here and now.” Bart brought Margaret’s hand up to his lips and kissed it warmly.

Maggie focused on the feel of Bart’s lips on her hand as she murmured, “ _As You Like It._ ”

Their friendship had been very sweet to her this year. She knew how warmly Bart felt about her, but Maggie was less sure of her own feelings. Leaving Henry had been harder than anticipated, and she — her train of thought was distracted by the feeling of Bart’s lips moving up and down her wrist. 

Margaret felt the rush of heat, and decided to revert back to her favourite part of her impulsive youth, before the years of Henry. 

“Bart,” she leaned forward and whispered, “Bart, let’s find somewhere a bit more secluded.” 

He looked up at her with a gleam in his eyes, “Really, Maggie? At this time?”

“When better?” she grinned. She had mourned her marriage long enough.

Margaret grabbed his hand, not allowed herself to think, and led him into a nearby closet (the same closet where her daughter had been earlier that evening), pressing him against the wall, kissing him firmly and heavily. 

He wrapped his arms around her instinctively and deepened the kiss, and she let herself thrill to kissing another man, of taking a lover, in her sister’s house in a hall closet. His lips were warm and eager with the pent up feelings of a year of flirtation. 

He pulled back for breath, gazing at her, “Margaret, are you sure? Here? Now?”

She smiled impishly as she trailed her hands down to his fancy breeches, dancing her fingers across his crotch, enjoying the gasp of surprise he let out.

Margaret chucked the last of her formal baroness persona to the wind as she breathed confidently in his ear, “You’ll find, Mr. Tarrant,” her fingers move up under his waistcoat to undo his braces, “that I have learned many things,” her hand slipped into his breeches to find his cock rapidly hardening, “in my travels through this world.” _The one good thing of being married to a Collingwood lad,_ she thought. 

Bart gulped with astonishment, for once at loss for a quotation, as Maggie sunk to her knees while she pulled out his cock. She caressed it gently as it grew harder, appraising it, evaluating how it was different (she noticed with some dismay that it was larger than she had been used to — she hoped she could still do this). 

She started to lick it, enjoying Bart’s gaping expression while stroking the length of it with the tips of her fingers. When she took him into her mouth, he shuddered, “Margaret, Margaret — we shouldn’t —”

_Shouldn’t what? _She wanted to ask, but her mouth was full. Enjoying the feeling of surprising him, she made eye contact as she took him deep within her mouth. This _was_ fun. __

Bart was overwhelmed by the sight of the charming Baroness Fisher ministering him, the curls on her neck growing damp with her efforts. He couldn't quite believe it — but a hasty liaison in a closet was not how he'd envisioned their first encounter.

He stilled her head, “Margaret,” and pulled her up. “Margaret,” he whispered, “...can you escort me to your chamber?”

She looked at him for a moment and then nodded slowly. 

Margaret led Bart out of the closet, noting that the house seemed to be empty now. She gestured to him to be quiet as they snuck up the stairs, not wanting to wake Prudence. But as they passed Prudence’s door, she heard a low gentleman's voice from within. She arched her eyebrow, it looked like Prudie was also having a very late night.

With far more confidence after that, she led Bart into her bed chamber and locked the door behind them. 

He looked so handsome in his purple coat. “Well, Mr. Tarrant, we find ourselves alone again.” Now that she had him up here, she wasn't quite sure what to do next. 

He came close and kissed her gently, “Indeed, dear lady.”

She was so grateful as he took the lead, as garments were slowly discarded between kisses and they made their way over to the bed. 

His competent hands were pushing her petticoats up her legs and he whispered to her, “Lie back, Maggie.” 

Bart scooted his head down towards her thighs and she started in surprise. “What — what are you doing?” She thought she knew, but she had never had experienced it before.

He gave her a warm smile, “Well, your ladyship, you’re not only the well-traveled one.”

“Oh?” she gulped.

Bart watched her swallow. “Indeed,” he murmured against her soft leg, “for _I am the epitome of the world._ ” He tried to remember the rest of the quotation. “ _In my travels, I have learnt,_ ” he pressed a kiss to her thigh, “ _delicacy in Italy._ ”

Maggie giggled at the quote. “Finally got a chance to fit in Austen?”

“Mrs. Inchbald, technically.”

“ _Lovers’ Vows_ isn't a very good play.”

“True. But … I can think of a few other vows this lover would want to make,” he murmured as he removed her knickers, stroking her folds.

With that he buried his tongue between her legs, Maggie suddenly realized what she'd been missing out for years. Bart was clearly practiced and knew exactly what he was doing. She relaxed into his touch, as his fingers stroke within her and his tongue did — his tongue did — oh, _such_ delightful things. Was this what it was like to have a lover that put her first? 

As she came closer and closer to the edge, she felt a pang of regret for all of her wasted years, and then let it go, as she flowed over.

 _After all,_ she thought, _what’s past is but prologue._


	10. Moments in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lili, Sam, Angela, and Bert continue their evening in true after hours style. Erotic and romantic (promise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By gaslightgallows and TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy
> 
> This was a very fun collaboration. Don't be surprised to see more from these four characters. Thanks Sarah for bringing us together!

Lili noticed right away when her husband snuck off with the lovely red-headed former tennis star that had so captured both of their attentions. _Sneaky, Sammy,_ Lili thought, but she kept up the pleasant chatter with Jane and her polite young man (Jane might not realize he was her young man yet, but Lili was sensitive to such things) until Kip made his excuses and whisked Jane onto the dance floor. 

It was then, finally, that Lili caught Bert’s eye as he stood a few feet away, drink in hand, watching the young people. She smiled and sidled up to him. “Take me somewhere quiet,” she murmured, lightly touching the back of his hand and gazing at him warmly from behind her lashes. 

His eyes widened and his skin paled, but he nodded once and then indicated a door. “Oh yes, I know the house well enough, Mrs. Elsworth,” he said, loud enough to be heard. “Let’s see if we can’t find your husband.”

“You’re too kind, Mr. Johnson,” Lili replied politely. 

They strolled away from the party, and as soon as they were out of sight, Bert grasped Lili’s hand and then led her away from the noises and the crowd, down to the servants’ quarters. “It’s my room. Lived here for a little while, a few years ago,” he explained, letting her go before him into a small, well-appointed bedroom. “Lamp’s by the bed. There ain’t as many servants now, as there used t’ be, so these old rooms’re empty, most of the time. Angie’s room’s upstairs, because Mrs. Stanley doesn’t know the whole truth.” He closed the door and then stood, a little awkwardly, watching her with undisguised longing. “Lili, I—”

She stepped in close to him, put her hands on his chest, and kissed him softly. “Oh...” Bert nearly slid to the floor. 

“Mmm...” Lili smiled against his lips and slid her arms around his torso, and deepened the kiss, stretching up on her toes. He was wonderfully solid and warm, and the smells of expensive soap and orange flower water could not completely banish the earthier scents of sweat and musk and just a hint of something sweet. “Oh,” she sighed, “this is nice.”

“Nice,” Bert murmured, “yeah.” He stroked her delicate face with his rough, callused hands. “Funny, innit? We’ve each had our turn with Sam an’ Miss Fisher an’ Jack Robinson, but somehow we ain’t never managed t’ cross paths in bed, you an’ me. Kinda... well, I kinda always figured it was because you weren’t interested. I mean, it’s not like you’re lackin’ in male company.”

Lili smiled, rather cheekily, as though laughing at both Bert and herself. “You’re not wrong about that, handsome.”

“Yeah?”

“But you’re barking up the wrong tree.” She worked her small nimble hands beneath the tails of his blue coat, stroking and gently squeezing his arse. “I’ve been interested. I _am_ interested.”

“Uh... mind if I ask why?” Bert scrubbed a hand through his hair. “You’re so... you’re like somethin’ from another world, even Angela says so. I can understand why you’d want her, but why me?”

Lili gently took his hand and kissed his palm, and then kissed his lips with slow, deliberate care. “Because I’ve been watching you, Bert, and I like what I’ve seen. I like what Sam and Phryne and Jack have told me. I like that you’re honest, and dependable, and I like that beneath that gruff exterior of yours, you’re gentle.” Her hands moved to the front of his breeches, stroking him through his clothes. Bert bit his lip and pumped his hips lightly into her touch. She went a step further, unbuttoning the front flap and brushing small sure fingers over the skin of his—

“Wait a minute. I was wearin’ underpants tonight...”

“Well, you were with Sam earlier.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t get me trousers off. Never even got me boots off!”

Lili laughed throatily and grinned like a cat. “He pulls that trick on all of his lovers, at some point. Don’t worry, you’ll get them back eventually.” She bit gently on his lower lip and then, in imitation of Bert himself a few hours earlier, Lili dropped to her knees. She pressed feathery kisses to the head of his cock. 

“Lili...” He ran a hand carefully through her silky hair. “I was worried...”

“About what?”

“Well, I ain’t... I ain’t as big as Sam. An’ you’re a woman with experience...”

She gazed up at him through impossibly long pale lashes. “Honey,” she said simply, “I am looking forward to fucking you.” Then she leaned forward and closed her lips around him.

Bert let out an inarticulate moan and fisted his fingers lightly in her hair. She curled one hand behind his balls, fondling him as she sucked. “Fuck, luv,” he gasped, bracing himself against the wall. 

“Don’t I make a gorgeous picture, Bert, my beauty?” she asked, replacing her mouth with her clever hand. 

“God, you do... hope I’ll be able t’ return the... favour...”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that. Maybe later, when we’re all together...” She returned to pleasuring him with her lips and her tongue. 

A bright blurred pictured formed in Bert’s brain, of Lili and Angela together, and that thought and Lili’s mouth and hands surged up and made him come for the second time that night. “Lili... oh, Lili... honey...”

She eased off his cock and pulled a dainty linen handkerchief from the bodice of her dress. She cleaned Bert off and refastened his breeches, and then rose to her feet and kissed him lightly. “Thank you, sweet man.”

It was Bert who deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. “Thank _you_ , luv,” he murmured hoarsely. “I don’t... I still don’t know why you want me, of all the other blokes here t’night, but I promise I’ll make it worth your time.”

Lili touched his face tenderly. “I’ve no doubt of that. Now. Let’s get back upstairs. With any luck, Sam and Angela will have reappeared.”

*** 

She reunited with her lawful husband on the dance floor, just as the band struck up a deliciously intimate waltz. Sam greeted her with a kiss and a low growl of appreciation. “One good kiss deserves another,” he murmured, barely restraining himself from licking Bert off of her lips, in front of everyone. 

There was a new flavour on his tongue that went straight to Lili’s head. “I think we need to make a hasty exit, darling,” she whispered, her heart beginning to pound. “This party’s winding down, and I’ve got plans...”

“Have I ever told you that you’re brilliant?”

Pleading Sam’s ‘delicate’ health (he truly did have a weak heart that needed to be pampered, but there were times when it was as much a convenience as a worry), they bid farewell to Jane (who looked over the moon) and Phryne (who looked altogether too pleased with herself) and Mrs. Stanley (who managed to look even _more_ pleased with herself), and retreated to the guesthouse across the lawn. 

They took two steps inside and then fell upon each other, kissing and mouthing hungrily and pawing impatiently at one another’s clothing. “How long d’you think we have?” Sam muttered, half-carrying Lili into the bedroom and hoisting her up onto the bed. 

“Long enough for one go, I hope,” Lili replied, her fingers fumbling with the buttons on Sam’s waistcoat. “I should’ve slipped a condom into my bodice before I went over. I was in Bert’s bedroom for Christ’s sake!”

Sam kissed her hard, tasting his lover lingering on his wife’s tongue and palate. “He’ll be here soon enough,” he reminded her, discarding coat and waistcoat and pulling off his shirt to reveal a muscular chest, dusted with brown hair. 

Lili hitched up her skirt while Sam unbuttoned his breeches, and then she pulled him down for a quick, hard, glorious fuck. 

After, as they lay together, catching their breath, Sam moved his mouth to the crux of Lili’s neck, suckling and then nibbling gently. “Mmm... nice.”

“Angela loves that. Makes gorgeous little noises.”

“Mmm, good to know.” She kissed him and then pushed him up, and went into the bathroom. When she returned, naked and refreshed and with her family planning device securely in place, she crossed to the bureau and pondered. “French letters?”

“In the bedside table, with the oil. Just in case.”

“Good.” Finally, she donned a gorgeous fur-trimmed gold peignoir. “Think this’ll impress them?”

“Hell, it impresses me,” Sam said admiringly, his eyes devouring her as he lay draped over the bed, still wearing nothing but his boots and breeches, “and I’ve been married to you for twenty years.”

There was a tentative knock at the front door. Sam and Lili both took a deep breath, and then smiled, and went to greet their guests. 

*** 

“Angela, I loved watching you move all night in that dress. The silk, almost the color of your flesh, was so sexy and tantalizing. And then when Sam told me you weren’t wearing anything underneath? I almost dragged you out of the party there and then.”

“But instead you dragged away my husband?” It was more playful than accusatory. Still, Bert made a noise of protestation.

“Bert always seems mildly terrified of me, Angela. I wanted to put him at ease before our night cap. But you do have a point. I owe you for taking a liberty this evening. I have a few ideas of how to make it up to you, if you’ll permit me?”

Lili’s delicate hands had been caressing Angela while she spoke. She grabbed Angela’s hand and guided her to the bed. Sam had already stripped Bert to the waist, but they paused in their actions in order to take in the sight of their wives. Lili and Angela both moved like felines in the bedroom and either one of them could have taken the lead, but it became apparent quickly that Lili was firmly in charge of this seduction. 

She made quick work of the dress fastenings before sliding it down Angela’s shoulders. Lili started out with soft, gentle caresses. “You’re the first woman I have thought about this much since Phryne. I want to savor this.” Lili was radiating heat through the lace peignoir she had changed into after the party. It was a stunning confection of gold lace with cocoon-like sleeves that ended in a bit of fur. The unexpected tenderness, feeling of Lili’s body so close, and her words combined to send a shiver through Angela. 

An inarticulate noise of approval was the only response she could manage as Lili trailed kisses down her neck. Lili paused at the tender spot at the crux of her neck. There she ran her tongue across before nibbling on her skin. Angela let out a high-pitched cry of approval. 

“I believe you may have received some tips ahead of time.” She stared meaningfully at Sam and Bert who were across the giant bed from them. Sam was sitting behind Bert with his arms wrapped around him. The two were watching them in rapt attention. The two men stole a knowing glance with each other before turning back and smiling.

“Perhaps a few tips, but I like to improvise as well.” With that she scratched down Angela’s back. Not so deep as to break the skin, but enough to send a little prickle of pain and heat across her flesh. Angela gasped in surprise, but then groaned as Lili went over the kisses with her soft lips.

She slid the dress down Angela’s arms further, exposing her breasts. As Sam had whispered to her, they were lusciously fuller than her own, now were revealed to have lovely rose-colored areolas. 

“Those are even better than you described,” Sam breathed into Bert’s ear.

Bert never tired of looking at his wife’s breasts and was fiercely proud of the obvious desire they inspired in Sam and Lili. Angela felt all of their eyes on her and trembled a bit at the intensity of that much attention. 

Lili’s hands drifted to Angela’s torso and then skated up the underside of her arms, so that Angela was freed from her sleeves. Lili then let her fingers glide back down her arms to her torso, where she caressed the outside of her breasts before letting her fingers come up to cup a breast in each hand. She teased her nipples, enjoying the feel of them pebbling under her fingertips. 

The fur of Lili’s sleeves against her bare flesh was making Angela dizzy with desire. She let her head fall back and was rewarded with a deep, penetrating kiss. When they parted, Lili slid around onto Angela’s lap, straddling her hips. Angela wrapped her arms around Lili’s waist and the two let themselves fall back onto the bed. 

It wasn’t until she felt the metal of the headboard in her hands that she realized Lili had been sliding her up the bed inch by inch while they had been kissing. Her dress became tangled around her knees and calves. Sam scampered over to the foot of the bed and gently extricated her.

“This dress is too fabulous and these legs to sexy to be abused so.” He carefully untangled the dress and set it carefully over a chair before returning to Angela’s feet. “Bert, luv, I have been waiting all night to taste your wife. Care if I have a go now?”

“Well, I miss you over here with me, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking about you between her legs all night. However, the Lady Lombard makes her own decisions, so you should really ask her.”

Lili and Angela paused between kisses. Angela looked over at Bert with great affection. “I love you so much, Mr. Johnson. And Sam, you sexy scoundrel, make me scream.”

Sam ran his fingers up her shapely legs and then had to duck under the lace of Lili’s peignoir as he slid up the sheets parting her legs in his ascension. He kissed along Angela’s inner thighs and then ran his stubbly, well-past-five-o’clock-shadow cheeks across her tender flesh. As he moved up Angela’s body, so did Lili.

Lili sat upright to watch Angela, as Sam began lavishing his attentions on her. She held Angela’s gaze, caressing and squeezing her breasts, as Sam’s tongue began to explore Angela’s inner folds. Angela was spellbound by how beautiful Lili looked astride her. She ran her hands up Lili’s torso to cup her perky and petite breasts that were just visible beneath the lace of the robe. Then she slid them down to where the robe was open and grasped Lili’s slender hips. She slid a thumb over Lili’s clit and used the fingers of her other hand to gently tease Lili’s labia.

Bert, for his part, was frozen. That fateful night when he and Angela had tumbled into sex with Jack and Phryne, he had walked in on them in the parlour, already in each other’s embrace. Phryne had grabbed him so fast and pulled him to her for a kiss that he hadn’t had time to really think before they became a beautiful tangle of limbs. Now, here he was, watching his wife be pleasured by one of his lovers and the woman he had been harboring a crush on for months. He shook his head in disbelief as it all sunk in. 

“Bert, be a dear and help me take this off.” Lili’s voice was huskier than it had been earlier and only added to the impression that she was like a purring cat. Even though they had already shared an intimate moment, Bert was still a little in awe of Lili. He shuffled across the sheets and pulled the robe from Lili’s frame. Bert felt like he was unwrapping a gift. Pulling away the robe revealed Sam using his tongue with gusto on Angela. _Damn, that man has a talented tongue._

Sam paused long enough to say “Thanks, luv,” before resuming his explorations, which elicited a delicious squeak from Angela. Bert felt his cock harden with watching and listening and taking in the potpourri of mingled scents. He followed Sam’s example by carefully draping Lili’s robe over Angela’s dress, before rejoining everyone on the bed. 

“Don’t you want to play with us, Bert?” 

“You three are a lot to take in, to be honest. And frankly, I ain’t ever seen anything quite like this before. I’m not totally sure where to be or what to do right now.”

Angela’s breasts were becoming flushed and her breathing more shallow. Lili let out a groan; clearly she was close, as well. Angela was beginning to writhe underneath Lili and it was hard for her to keep up a steady rhythm with her fingers. 

“Be here for Angela, Bert. Sam, my love, Angela told you she wants to scream. So I suggest you get that clever tongue of yours going or I’ll have to do it myself. That’s it Angela, come for us, darling, don’t worry about me, come for Sam and me.”

Angela gratefully released her fingers and Lili replaced them with her own. With her other hand, Lili grasped Angela’s and laced their fingers together. Bert couldn’t hold back any longer and laid down next to his wife, teasing a nipple with his tongue. Both moaning at the contact. Angela took her free arm and cradled it behind Bert’s head, running her fingers into his hair.

The bolt of electricity that shot through her was blinding, and she felt her mouth open to scream, quickly covered by Bert’s. She heard another female voice cry out with her own. Lithe Lili then swiftly flipped herself around on top of Angela and pushed Sam back. She then plunged herself between Angela’s legs, wanting to taste her for herself and see if she could draw out another climax. 

“Oi!” Sam protested, at having been so unceremoniously removed. “I wasn’t finished!” His complaints sent Angela into giggles. With Lili’s talented tongue at work on her those giggles were mixed with mews of pleasure. 

The second orgasm was not that difficult to coax out. Unlike the jolt of the first, this was warm waves crashing on the surf. Angela’s body trembled through the aftershocks. Another wave of joyous laughter erupted from her. Lily released her, turned around and flopped on top of her torso, snuggling into Angela’s arms.

“I’m not sure I have ever made someone laugh and come at once. Hot damn!”

“That is easily one of the best sounds I think I have ever heard.” said Sam, before bursting into giggles himself. “Why have we waited so long to be with you two?!”

Lili reached across Angela to cup Bert’s face. “Bert, doll, I hope you are ready for me now, because I need to fuck you. Right now.”

He flushed and then looked at Angela. Was he trying to make sure it was okay with her? “Bert, honey, it’s okay, we’ve talked about this. We agreed we would be open to everything tonight. And I guarantee you, I am not anywhere close to done with Sam.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that. We were rudely interrupted a moment ago, it’s true.” He gave Lili a playful slap on her ass.

“Mmm, more of that later, my love. But I need to focus on Bert here before he changes his mind.”

Lili gave Angela one more deep kiss before pulling Bert over to join them. The shared kisses helped boost his confidence even further. He finally let go of his hesitation and reached out an arm to wrap around Lili’s back to slide her over Angela into his embrace.

Sam took advantage of the shift in positions to hop back in the bed next to Angela. “Now where were we, my vermillion vixen?”

The next moments were filled with flashes of cotton and wool as both men were divested of their final items of clothing. French letters appeared and the two men assisted each other in rolling them on before tumbling back into the arms of each other’s wife. The air was punctuated by cries of approval and mild expletives as the two new couplings each found their own rhythm and traced unique paths of pleasure as they discovered the erogenous zones of their lover. 

Eventually, the boundaries blurred between the couples. Fingers wandered, lips caressed, limbs became entangled. No one rushed, although their explorations were not without a bit of trial and error. Apologies were issued, laughter bubbled up, and sighs of unexpected pleasure grew to moans of ecstasy. 

At some point, Lili ended up on top of Bert. And for the first time in over an hour a clear coherent sentence rang out.

“Sam, I need you.” Bert started to pull out of Lili, briefly alarmed that he wasn’t satisfying her. But she held him in place. “You aren’t going anywhere!” she all but growled at him.

“Oh, you want THAT, do you love?” 

“More than anything.”

Sam leaned over and whispered to Angela, who was looking from Sam to Lili in utter confusion as well. “Don’t worry gorgeous, they’ll be room at this table for you as well.”

 _Room at this table?_ What was he talking about? They had all but exhausted her personal sexual repertoire, and poor Bert was still reeling from having his wishes with Lili fulfilled. They were going to have so much to talk about later! And Sam. Sam had been a surprisingly attentive partner to her. She’d thought it would be all roguish playtime and it felt more, somehow. 

Sam shuffled across the sweat soaked sheets and slid the French Letter off. He then reached for the jar of oil on the nightstand, slicked himself up and positioned himself behind his wife.

“Bert, my love, consider yourself in the top tier. This is a special treat she reserves for an elite few. Now, slide your legs wider to make room for me, mate.”

Sam tucked himself between Bert’s legs, positioned on his knees and slowly slid inside his wife’s arse. She mewed in pleasure. Then rose up to meet him in an embrace, without letting Bert slip out of her.

Bert was wide-eyed and his thrusts had slowed while he had tried to figure out what Sam and Lili had planned. Once he realized Sam meant to enter her at the rear, he stopped completely.

He glanced over to Angela, finding it very reassuring that she looked like he felt--a little out of sorts and somewhat discombobulated. She drifted over to him and planted a kiss on his forehead.

Sam was caressing Lili and very slowly undulating behind her. Lili had become flushed with renewed arousal. She had both hands splayed across Bert for purchase and begin undulated on top of him in concert with Sam. Bert’s body was much faster to react than his brain and began counter thrusting.

“That’s it, Bert. That feels amazing. Don’t be afraid. If it stops feeling good, you can stop.”

“No, no part of me could stop this,” was all he could manage.

“Angela, don’t they look beautiful?”

Angela couldn’t believe Lili still had the ability to speak. She wasn’t at all sure she would be able to in her place. “You should see how beautiful you look, Lili. Like some kind of Greek goddess.” There was a murmur of approval from both men at that.

Angela hadn’t had someone enter her at the rear like that. She and Bert had decided that was his special thing for the occasional lovers he took, like Jack or Sam. She knew at some point Phryne was going to suggest it, but it had not come up yet. But Lili seemed to enjoy it very much.

Angela nestled herself next to Bert and he wrapped an arm around her. His breathing had started to become shallow and he felt lightheaded. The familiarity of her scent, the feel of her breasts against his chest, the weight of her in his arms all served anchor him. 

Angela was enjoying the warmth of Bert, the feel of his scruff starting to come in on his cheeks while she looked up to watch the two beautiful creatures that were Sam and Lili pulsating in harmony with each other, syncopated with her Bert. She began to nuzzle him behind his ear. The sensation surged through him and he bucked his hips. This elicited a surprised whimper from Lili.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to….”

“No, it felt amazing. Do it again.”

Angela renewed her attentions to his neck, now tracing the sensitive spot behind his ear with the tip of her tongue. Bert moaned and his hips careened up more fervently.

“Mmmm, yes, I love it.”

“Lili, I can’t hold back much more.”

“Don’t hold back. The French letter is still there and my internal device is in. Go ahead and let go, Bert.”

Angela began alternating between sucking his earlobe and nibbling it, just the way he liked it. An inarticulate noise began emanating from deep in Bert’s chest before he called out in release. He leaned over and kissed Angela deeply, briefly lost to each other as he came back into himself. Their lips parted and tongues eagerly savored the mix of familiar tastes with the exotic edition of Sam and Lili.

Angela pulled back from Bert’s embrace and helped him slide out from Lili before she knelt in front of her and plunged two fingers inside while massaging her clitoris. It only took a few strokes before Lili began to tremble and the rhythm she had kept up faltered. It was when Angela leaned down and took a nipple in her lips that Lili came completely undone.

Sam quickened his pace and followed the rest of his bedmates into bliss shortly after his wife.

The four collapsed in a tangle on the bed. Lili and Angela immediately attended to Sam to make sure he was well. No one wanted to have to go running back to the main house, at whatever time it was, to seek out Mac. Sam chortled at the fuss and made a point of moving over to curl up with Bert. 

“See, this is why men are sometimes preferable. You don’t see Bert here clucking over me like a hen.”

“Don’t fool yourself, love, that’s only because I can’t really feel my legs and am still seeing stars. But happy to have you here, either way.”

With Sam safe in Bert’s arms, Lili let herself relax too and curled up with Angela instead. After their exertions it wasn’t long before they all drifted off to sleep. 

******** 

Sometime later, just as the first light of dawn was breaking through the trees, Bert and Angela gathered up their clothing, hurriedly dressed just enough to be decently seen by the servants, and slipped from the guest house. They had moved in silence, not wanting to disturb Sam or Lili.

Once they were outside, they paused, and Bert tugged Angela into a tender embrace. Their lips ghosted across each other and they quietly took in each other in the misty morning air. The quietness of the dawn seemed too perfect to interrupt by speaking, so when they parted, Bert slid the fingers of one hand into hers and, feeling connected in ways that transcended merely the physical, they slowly made their way to the house, slipped up to Angela’s room, and prepared to share the joy of their wedding in just a few hours with all of their friends and found family.

But for now, Mr. and Mrs. Albert Johnson needed a moment of quiet alone.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Clarity of Morning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7158860) by [MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/pseuds/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy)




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